“I’ve heard, Billy, that the haughty John Eaton’s rather attentive to the late Mrs. Copeland,” said Grace, when they had gathered about the tea-table. “She was among those present at a little dinner he gave at the University Club the other night in honor of that English novelist who’s visiting here.”
“You’re bitter because he left you out,” said Copeland indifferently.
“Oh, my bitterness won’t hurt Fanny. I suppose you’ve heard that she’s come into a nice bunch of money—something like a quarter of a million!”
Copeland’s surprise was evident.
“That sounds like a fairy story; but I hope it’s true.”
“I know it’s true,” said Nan quietly. “Mrs. Copeland told me herself.”
Mrs. Kinney had risen to leave them and Copeland had crossed the room to open the door for her. They were arrested by Nan’s surprising confirmation of this report that Mrs. Copeland had come into an unexpected inheritance. Nan vouchsafed nothing more; and at a glance from Copeland Grace left them.
“I didn’t know you and Fanny were seeing each other these days,” he remarked as he sat down beside her. “Something new, isn’t it?”
“Well, papa always admired her and he took me out to see her a little while ago, and then that day you saw her with us at the bank he insisted on taking her home for luncheon. She told us then about the money.”
Copeland smiled grimly.