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With an awful spasm Mr. Carr jerked his congested features into the ghastly semblance of a smile. "Not at all," he managed to say. "This is very interesting what you tell me about this p-pu this talented young man. Does he does he seem attracted toward you unusually attracted?" "Yes," said Drusilla, smiling reminiscently. "How do you know?" "Because he once said so." "S-said w-what?"
"Why, he said quite frankly that he thought me the most delightful girl he had ever met." "What else?" Mr. Carr's voice was scarcely audible. "Nothing," said Drusilla; "except that he said he cared for me very much and wished to know whether I ever could care very much for him.... I told him I thought I could. Flavilla told him so, too.... And we all felt rather happy, I think; at least I did."
Fane required documentary evidence, Collins herself was in a position to supply it, through the kindness of her colleagues in Henry Guion's employ. Davenant listened in silence. "So the thing is out?" was his only comment. "It's out and all over the place," Drusilla answered, tearfully. "We're the only people who haven't known it but it's always that way with those who are most concerned."
Now let's change the subject. What did you come for particular, beside wanting to see me, of course." "Well, I wanted to see you, first of all, just for the pleasure of seeing you, and then I want to tell you about the mothers we've got by our advertisement." Drusilla was interested at once. "Did you git some? I told you we would. Did you advertise in all the papers?"
Gray, very lately Sybilla Carr; and the unmarried triplets, Flavilla and Drusilla Carr. Remembering with a shudder how Bell Telephone and Standard Oil might once have been bought for a song, Bushwyck Carr determined that in this case his pudgy fingers should not miss the forelock of Time and the divided skirts of Chance.
To her amazement the next Sunday there was spread before her the paper with great headlines: MISS DRUSILLA DOANE, OUR NEWEST MILLIONAIRE. There was the picture of the Doane home for old ladies; there were pictures of the home at Brookvale taken from many angles, pictures of the garden, the conservatories; and in the middle of the page there was Drusilla herself, sitting in the high-backed chair.
"How do you get to your country?" inquired Buster John, who was keen for an adventure. "The nearest way is by the spring," replied Mr. Thimblefinger. "That is the only way you could go." "Can I go too?" asked Sweetest Susan. "And Drusilla?" "Oh, of course," said Mr. Thimblefinger, shrugging his shoulders. "One can go or all can go." "Do you go down the spring branch?" asked Buster John.
"He meant well by me, and his letter is kind though he said it in a queer way; but it is the first letter I've had from any one for a long time, and I should like to keep it. It makes it all seem more real." The lawyer rose. "Now we will leave you. When will you be ready to come with us to New York?" Drusilla smiled her soft sweet smile. "I haven't much to get ready, Mr. Thornton.
Drusilla put her arms around her father's neck and kissed him tenderly; then the page assisted her gracefully into the saddle, and she rode, sobbing, away. After they had ridden about an hour, they came to a large, white building. "O dear!" said the King, "the seminary is asleep! I was afraid of it!"
Drusilla smiled. "That's just like John," she said softly. "Set him down somewhere with a book and he'd forgit that there was other things he ought to be doin' instead of readin'. He worked in Silas Graham's grocery store when he was a boy, and Silas had to keep pryin' him out from behind the barrels to wait on customers.
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