His mother's
interest was not assumed; his sister was fascinated by the recital.
"Who knows," she cried, her dark eyes sparkling, "she may be an heiress
to millions!"
"Or a princess of the royal blood!" amended her mother with an
enthusiasm that was uncommon. "Blood alone has made this girl what she
is. Heaven knows that billions or trillions could not have overcome the
influences of a lifetime spent in--in Winkletown--or is that the name?
It doesn't matter, Wicker--any name will satisfy. Frankly, I am
interested in the girl. It is a crime to permit her to vegetate and die
in a place like this."
"But, mother, she loves these people," protested Bonner lifelessly.
"They have been kind to her all these years. They have been parents,
protectors--"
"And they have been well paid for it, my son. Please do not
misunderstand me, I am not planning to take her off their hands. I am
not going to reconstruct her sphere in life. Not by any means. I am
merely saying that it is a crime for her to be penned up for life in
this--this desert. I doubt very much whether her parentage will ever be
known, and perhaps it is just as well that it isn't to be. Still, I am
interested."
"Mamma, I think it would be very nice to ask her to come to Boston for a
week or two, don't you?" suggested Edith Bonner, warmly but doubtfully.
"Bully!" exclaimed Wicker, forgetting in his excitement that he was a
cripple.
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