Polly turned away and obediently started on her errand, but as she went down the stairs, her mother heard her murmuring to herself words that were not altogether complimentary to Aunt Jane and the coming ministers.
It was one of the days when everything went wrong, Polly said to herself as she went out of the gate and down the silent street. Molly had laughed at her, Aunt Jane had abused her, and, worst of all, her mother had spoken to her more seriously than she had done for a long time. That was the way it generally was with geniuses, she thought, and reflected with a vindictive joy that some day or other they would all be sorry for it. At this point she was interrupted by hearing her name called in boyish tones,—
"Polly! Polly! I say, wait for a fellow; can't you?"
Turning, she saw Alan running after her, with his overcoat waving in the breeze and his soft felt hat pulled low on his forehead.
"Where going?" he inquired briefly, as he overtook her and fell into step by her side.
"To your house," she answered as briefly, not yet able to return to her usual sunny manner.
"That's good," returned Alan cheerfully; then, as he surveyed her, he added, "What's up, Polly? You don't seem to be particularly festive this morning. Have you and Molly been having another pow- wow?"
"A little one," confessed Polly.
"That's too bad," said Alan, with a paternal air of consolation. "If Molly's been teasing you, I'll give her fits when she comes back from Florence's. She's there now."
"Oh, I suppose it was both of us," responded Polly, cheered by his understanding of the situation.