“That nose of his,” said Damaris, “got its shape entirely from poking into other people’s affairs.”
“Who is the pretty lady with white hair who is with him so often?”
“Adèle Lumbard, a divorcée; no relation of Miss Frink’s, but calls her ‘Aunt.’ Think of the lady of the old school having to house a divorcée! It seems that Mrs. Lumbard’s grandmother was Miss Frink’s best friend, the only person, I guess, she ever loved in her life. So, when this girl’s marriage turned out unhappily, I rather think Miss Frink guessed the fault wasn’t all on one side, and I’m just sure Miss Frink took Mrs. Lumbard in as an offering to her friend who died long ago. I’m just sure of it because it’s so plain the old woman doesn’t love her any more than she does anybody else; only I think she wants to know where Adèle is, evenings.”
“Why, Damaris! How imaginative you are. Why doesn’t Mrs. Lumbard read to her, then?”
“Yes, why doesn’t she? Just because Adèle’s reading is one of the 157 varieties of things Miss Frink doesn’t like.”
“And she liked yours,” said Millicent, her gentle voice sympathetic again.
“Yes; Leonard got her to try me, and though she didn’t throw me any bouquets she engaged me; but she informed me yesterday when we went to the mat, that my skirts had always distressed her by being so short, and now my hair settled it.” The speaker shook her fluffy mane. “I met Leonard when I went into the house, and he looked me over with his owl-eyes, and said: ‘You little fool, you’ve done for yourself now.’ And I had, you see.”
“Is he always so affectionate?”
“Yes, as affectionate as a snapping turtle; but Mother looks up to him as a great man because he’s closest to Miss Frink of anybody, and everybody believes he’ll be her heir.”
“Will he help you again?”