By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. CHAPTER XV. "Ye-ah," said O'Higgins, jovially. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Spurling, indignantly; "but I can tell you we have. ” Her thoughts went into solution for a time, while she listened to a lark singing. But, say we're friends.
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