"Oh, do dance it, Judy--please," cried Anne. She was living in a sort
of Arabian Nights' dream. Hitherto the girls that she had known had
been demure and unaccomplished, so that Judy seemed a brilliant
creature, fresh from fairyland.

With a crash the music stopped, as Judy jumped up from the bench, and
went into the hall.

"Move the chairs back," she directed over her shoulder, and Anne
bustled about, and cleared a space in the centre of the polished floor.

In the meantime Judy bent over a great trunk in the hall.

"Oh, dear," she cried, as she piled a bewildering array of things on
the floor--bright hued gowns, picturesque hats, and a miscellaneous
collection of fans and ribbons. "Oh, dear, of course they are at the
very bottom."

"They" proved to be a scarlet silk shawl and a pair of high-heeled
scarlet slippers. Judy wound the shawl about her in the Spanish
manner, put on the high-heeled slippers, stuck an artificial red rose
in her dark hair, and stepped forth as dashing a señorita as ever
danced in old Seville.

"Oh, Judy," was all that Anne could say. She plumped herself down in a
big chair, too happy for words, and waved to Judy to go on, while she
held her breath lest she might wake from this marvelous enchantment.

Out in the garden, the Judge heard the click of castanets and the tap
of the high heels.