“What are they doing?” she asked Mrs. Stannard, who replied:
“Building the house over, as you may say. It belongs to my nephew Harry, you know.”
Connie nodded, and Mrs. Stannard continued: “He has been abroad a long time. I wonder you never met him. He was married in London, a year ago last January, to a Miss Haynes, from Kentucky.”
“Oh, yes,” and Connie roused to something like interest. “Some one sent me a paper. I never knew who it was. And are they coming here to live?”
“Bimeby, when the house is ready,” Mrs. Stannard replied. “Hal had a drawing made of what he wanted done and sent it to Mr. Green, the head carpenter in Millville, and he is seeing to it with a raft of men who dawdle half the time. I’ve watched ’em. Hal ought to be here to see it.”
“And isn’t he here?” Connie asked, by way of saying something rather than because she was greatly interested.
“No; he’s in Europe still, ordering furniture and carpets,” Mrs. Stannard said. “A pretty sum he’ll have to pay, and his wife’s father failed not long ago. Isn’t worth a cent, I hear. I am sure Hal depended a great deal on his wife’s money, and she hasn’t any.”
“When are they coming?” Connie asked, and Mrs. Stannard replied:
“Not till June or July, when everything is done. Harry hates a muss; he wants it all fair sailing. That’s the Morris of him. But he is a handsome fellow. I think you will like him.”
To this Connie did not answer. She was getting tired, and said she would lie down and rest a while; then get up again and surprise Kenneth when he came home.