“Well, now! And haven’t you heard your own story?”
“No,” said Gloria weakly.
“Don’t you know why you’re not at the fancy school?”
“Aunt Hattie started to tell me,” Gloria could not hold back her emotion, “and I was so anxious that nothing would interfere with my father’s trip that I simply would not listen. You see, dad had this offer standing for three years. It was the foreign commission for his firm.”
“Oh, I see. You were afraid if you heard the whole thing you might not have the courage to come out here,” mused the old lawyer. “Well, I must say I admire your pluck. I’ve heard about it. But it does seem to me that you should stand up for your rights. In fact, under your Aunt Lottie’s orders, I am bound to see that you do.”
Just then there flashed before Gloria’s agitated mind the memory of this man’s name in connection with her Aunt Lottie’s only romance. Yes, the name was Homer Hanaford.
“But the house. Which house do you mean?” she asked as soon as she could collect enough reason to do so.
“They call it a fancy name, but that didn’t help it any with the Board of Health,” replied the man. “You see, it looked all right and when Aunt Hattie went into the thing she asked me about it, as she knew she had to.” He shifted in the chair to emphasize this point. “I advised against it, but she won Lottie over. Dear little Lottie! She was so gentle and trusting.” He paused and sat very still. Not even the paper weight was pressed into action. Yes, Gloria was reflecting, this must have been Aunt Lottie’s knight. He who had sat by her in all her troubles and who wore crepe on his hat at the funeral.
A bond of sympathy was immediately established between the girl at the window and the man at the desk. It was so completely overpowering that Gloria was reluctant to press her questions about the house.
But the lawyer promptly reacted to his duty. “Now, what I want to know, little girl,” he said, “is, if you are really contented over there?”