The boy’s ears grew crimson.
“I suppose I ought to have been a man,” she added. “I seem to be out of sympathy with most things feminine. Mr. Ogden gave me information concerning Mrs. Lumbard this morning which lifted a big irritation. It makes whatever I do for her now a favor instead of a duty. Once, Hugh, I had an honest friend—just one. There never has been another. We loved each other. Mrs. Lumbard came here representing herself as this woman’s granddaughter, and she called me Aunt Susanna on the strength of it. Mr. Ogden unconsciously spoiled her game this morning. I never had trusted her, and had rebuked myself for it; but I’m usually right—that X-ray, you know.”
Hugh, rolling along beside her in the charming little carriage, wondered wretchedly if she trusted him, or if the X-ray was working.
“I’m sorry for Ally,” he said gravely.
“So am I,” responded Miss Frink promptly. “I hope she will develop some day into a worthy woman. I regret that it has to be in Farrandale, but we can’t have all things to please us.”
“Some day,” thought Hugh, “she will want me to be a worthy man, anywhere but in Farrandale.”
He was in his room dressing for dinner when Ogden came in.
“Well, admitted to the bar yet?” demanded the latter gayly.
“Look here, Ogden”—Hugh advanced and seized his friend. “When you were spilling Ally’s beans this morning, did you spill mine, too, and never told me?”
“Not so, dear one. Will you kindly not pull the button off my coat?”