“I know,” said Dollie, sadly, “you felt that way about Mr. Lawson. Oh, if you had only acted upon your first impulse with our rascally boarder I might never have fallen into his clutches, Marion.”
“I hope this fellow isn’t a hypnotist like Mr. Lawson,” said Marion, slowly, “but there’s one thing sure—he has cast a spell over Miss Allyn. He’s made her love him, and I call that wonderful.”
“Do you suppose he is rich,” said Dollie, remembering Miss Allyn’s conversation the evening before.
“Did you notice her eyes?” asked Marion, sagely. “Why, that girl is so much in love with him she doesn’t even think about it. I’d be willing to declare she’s forgotten that there is such a thing as money—and to think of her reading us such a lecture on finance!”
Both girls laughed heartily, but Marion’s smile ended in a sigh.
She was not able to shake off her impression of Mr. Colebrook.
“Hello! Can I come in?” called a voice outside the door.
Dollie opened it quickly and admitted a youth of seventeen, frank-faced and healthy and brimming over with good nature.
“Oh, Bert, is that you?” called Marion, quickly. “Come right in, so I can tell you all about my visit to the country.”
“Have they erected a headstone to my memory in the Poor Farm graveyard yet?” asked the boy, “and is the village of Hickorytown draped in mourning for my decease?”