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64 combing up the heavy masses of her own soft brown hair. She looked up from under it at Jane’s reflection in the mirror.

“What do I suppose what is?” Mary asked.

“What Mr. Moulton has to tell us, of course,” said Jane. “I’ve been thinking. He’s our guardian, you know, so I think it’s one of two things: Either we are a great deal poorer than we are supposed to be, or a great deal richer. His voice certainly sounded excited; the more I think of it the surer I am that Mr. Moulton’s voice was queer. When guardians in books have anything to tell their wards it is somethng about money, so I suppose we’re beggared, or else”

“We’re not!” Mary ended Jane’s sentence for her with a laugh. “Just like the effect of the White Knight’s poem, which either brought tears to your eyes or it didn’t! Janie, you’re the greatest goose—for a duck! You’re precisely like the heathen imagining vain things! Mr. Moulton probably wants to talk about naming a plant for one of us; he’s been talking about that ever since he began experimenting with those hybrids of his, which are going to produce a new flower.”

“You’ll see!” said Jane, throwing out her