“Why, yes. You see dad thinks I am at boarding school—”
“I knew Ed Doane would never have gone off and left you this way if he knew the truth,” said Mr. Hanaford.
“But I’m all right at Aunt Hattie’s,” declared Gloria, a challenge in her voice. She felt guilty in listening. It was her aunt who should have told her all this.
“Oh, yes. I knew all three sisters. They were all fine girls. I knew your mother too. She was like Lottie, gentle and trusting—” ruminated the romantic squire.
“Do you think—I look like—my mother?” faltered Gloria, glad to change the subject.
“Not much. Just the same curly little mouth, and yes, you have got that famous Macumber dimple right in the middle of your chin.”
Gloria blushed at the close-up criticism. She had always wondered if she did look like her mother. Jane said so, but Jane usually agreed on pleasant questions.
“And you didn’t know about that fancy house that the Board of Health condemned?” asked the lawyer.
“Why did they condemn it?” queried Gloria.
“Built on a swamp. Couldn’t drain the cellar. You see, a company started a big boom, promised wonders and what-not to investors. Your Aunt Hattie had put too much fixings in the house on Maple Street. I don’t know how much she paid for the decoratin’ of her daughter’s room, but folks around here know. It was talked over pretty generally. So I suppose she hoped to retrench.”