"Well," his friend replied, rather hesitatingly, "you must expect to
balance up for last night, I reckon."
"Your cousin, I suppose!"
Burnett nodded.
"She wanted you," he said. "She's taken a fancy to you; and she can afford
to marry for love," he added.
"I'm thankful that I can, too," the other answered fervently.
His friend laughed at the fervor.
"You make me think of her teacher," he said. "She sings, and when she was
sixteen she meant to outrank Patti; she was lots homelier then."
"Oh, I say!" Jack cried. "I can believe 'most anything, but--"
Burnett laughed and then sobered.
"She was," he said solemnly; "she really and truly _was_. And her mother
said to her teacher,--there in Dresden: 'She will be the greatest soprano,
won't she?' And he said: 'Madame, she has only that one chance--to be _the_
greatest.'"
Jack laughed.
"But why 'Lorne'?" he asked suddenly. "Why not 'Burnett,' since she's your
uncle's child?"
"Oh, that's straight enough; there's a hyphen there. My uncle died and my
aunt married a title. My aunt's Lady Chiheleywicks, but the family name is
Lorne. And you pronounce my aunt's name Chix."
"I'm glad I know," said Jack.
"Oh, we're great on titles," said Burnett, modestly. "If the Boers hadn't
killed Col. Rosscott, Betty would have been a Lady, too, some day. But as
it is--" he added thoughtfully, "she's nothing but a widow."
"'Nothing but'!" Jack cried indignantly.
"Oh, well," said Burnett, "of course it's great, her being a widow--but
then she'd have been great the other way too.
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