"Sing, Cousin Don!" demanded Connie; "you are leaving it all to Mr.
Wicker and me, while you sit there looking exactly as if you had lost
your last friend."
"No, only my illusions, Connie."
"Where did you lose them?"
"In Singapore. All but one. I hung on to it clear around the world,
only to lose it on Christmas night when I got home. Don't you feel
sorry for me?"
"Not a bit," said Connie saucily. "I couldn't feel sorry for anybody
as good looking as you are,--could you, Mr. Wicker? Where did Miss
Lady go?"
"She said she was going to lie down, that her head ached," said Noah.
"I know what's the matter," said Connie; "she tries to keep us from
seeing it, but she's all broken up over selling Thornwood."
"Thornwood!" cried Donald; "she hasn't sold it?"
"No, but it's been put up for sale. She'd die at the stake for Father.
He doesn't even know about it."
"But surely there is some other way." Connie shrugged her shoulders.
"I am sure I don't know. Hattie's given up music and French, and we've
put Bertie in the public school, and I haven't had but one party dress
this winter. But a girl doesn't have to depend on clothes to have a
good time, does she, Mr.
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