“He hasn’t, and I’m going to complain about it bitterly,” said Mrs. Copeland, amused by Nan’s enthusiasm.
“You should, for Jerry is a nice boy, and very wise and kind.”
“The only one of his benefactions he ever confided to me was the case of a girl—the daughter of an old friend who had fallen on evil times. He wanted to send her to college, and I became the visible instrument, so he needn’t appear in the matter himself. The girl graduated last year and, like a fraud, I had to go down to Vassar and pose as her good angel. She’s a great success and is to teach somewhere, I think. But—I shouldn’t be telling you this!”
“Oh, it’s quite safe! I value his friendship too much to do anything to displease him.”
“Well, things like that ought to be told,” remarked Fanny reflectively; “particularly when some people think John Eaton cold and selfish.”
Luncheon interrupted these confidences. Farley had not been to the dining-room for several months and he made much of the occasion.
“This is a celebration for me, too,” said Fanny. “I’ve just had a piece of good fortune. Nobody knows of it yet; you’re the first people I’ve told! You know I haven’t many friends to confide in. An aunt of mine has just died and left me some money. In fact, there’s a great deal of it; I’m richer than I ever expected to be.”
“Good! Good!” Farley ejaculated, interested and pleased.
“It’s fine,” said Nan; “and it’s nice of you to tell us about it.”
Nan was afraid that Farley would demand the amount of the legacy, but evidently Fanny knew he would be curious as to all the details, and she went on to explain that it was her mother’s sister, the last of the family, who had died recently in Ohio and left her all her property.