Not
until they had reached the large room in the third story and had
closed the door did she break the silence which enfolded them.
"For pity's sake," asked Ruth as she took off her coat and hat,
"what is it and who is it?"
"Oh, it's only Miss Cynthia," answered Dolly carelessly. "I didn't
want mother to know I'm in the house."
"Who's Miss Cynthia?" pursued Ruth with great curiosity, "and why
don't you want your mother to know?"
"Why, Miss Cynthia Atwood, of course. Don't you know her yet?
You're fortunate, that's all I can say. She lives in that funny
little house near the library, and she's the last surviving member
of one of the oldest families here. I ought to know, for she's told
me times enough."
"But why don't you like her?" persisted Ruth, who was toasting herself
in front of the open fire while Dorothy got out the materials for
the chocolate.
"Oh, I don't know," answered Dolly with a shrug. "She's tiresome
and inquisitive, and she's always coming round to make visitations
on days when she ought not to be out, and then we girls or the
boys have to see that she gets home safely. I can't help slipping
out of her way whenever I can.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173