Mrs. Ivy was the first to comment on his frequent visits. She confided to Mrs. Sequin that she was afraid he was getting interested in Connie Queerington, and that somebody ought to tell him that Connie had been in love with dear Gerald for years and years. An impartial observer might have expressed a less confident opinion concerning the object of Miss Connie's affections.
Noah Wicker, for instance, while not exactly an impartial observer, had arrived at quite a different conclusion.
“You watch the way she looks at Don,” he said darkly to Miss Lady on one occasion.
Miss Lady laughed, “Oh! Connie's like the Last Duchess, she likes whate'er she looks on, and her looks go everywhere.”
“Yes, but this is different. Has she ever said anything to you about him?”
“Mercy, yes, Connie talks to be about all the boys.”
“Does she talk about me?” Noah's eyes were as wistful as a dog's.
For a second Miss Lady hesitated, then she compromised with truth and said, “yes.” She did not add that Connie was particularly voluble on the subject of his hair, and the creak of his boots and his apparent genius for ubiquity.
“Do you know what I'd do if I were you, Noah?” she said. “I'd have me a new suit of clothes made.”
“Why, these are new!”