"Oh, Uncle Dan!" she cried, "I thought you never were coming! I want to talk to you."
"Why, Polly!" he exclaimed, "what are you up to? You look like a fright in that thing!"
"Which means, you never would have known me," Polly declared mischievously. "That's just what I wanted. Now come in like a dear and let me talk to you. No, sit in this chair,—it's much more comfortable. Have you had your cigar?"
"Of course I have. It's nearly an hour since luncheon."
"Don't you want another?"
"Polly! What are you driving at?"
"I only wanted to make you perfectly comfortable, so that you would enjoy having a little chat with me."
She had seated herself in a low chair opposite him, where she could look straight into his eyes. She pulled off the black lace and proceeded to fold it with great care and precision. There was a look in her face, calculated to make the old soldier call out all his reserves.
"Well, out with it, Polly!" he cried.
"It's about that poor singer, Uncle Dan; the woman we took home last night. You remember?"