"My daughter, Gertrude."
He shook hands and bowed.
"Miss Winter."
He repeated the same perfunctory ceremony, but his glance was wandering restlessly.
"Mr. Jones, Mr. Perkins, and my son, Tom."
Kellogg responded mechanically to the greetings. Rosalind, following the line of his glance, saw that it encompassed the figure of Polly Dawson. And in Polly's eyes, which were staring at the new guest, was an expression that completely baffled her.
"Oh, Polly, where are you?" called Mrs. Witherbee. "I believe you've met Mr. Kellogg, haven't you?"
Polly stepped forward and extended her hand. Rosalind watched the meeting narrowly. She sensed a situation that she did not understand—but she proposed to find out.
"Hello—Billy," said Polly in a queer voice.
"How do do—Polly?"