After some months of close companionship with Winnie, his thoughts of Polly were something exquisitely sweet and sympathetic, and very, very sad. He was careful never to mention her name to his wife, for on no subject was Mrs. Kestridge more bitter, and disagreeable, than on the subject of her youngest sister.
When, however, they had come to London, Hubert had thought instantly of how he could best serve the girl whose love and devotion for her mother set her so far apart from and above her sisters. To offer to aid Mrs. Pennington, much though she needed it, was something he knew Polly would never support, but there were other means of being useful, and his plan of sharing the house had been one of these others.
“Do you want us to die of the doldrums?” Winnie asked, fretfully. “You don’t know how I hate that dingy old house. I suppose I must go there to see my mother, otherwise, I assure you, I would not set foot inside its door again. I hope,” Mrs. Kestridge added, earnestly, “that mother will not cry or make a scene about Harold. Of course, it was awfully sad, but, then, everybody knew he was as delicate as he could be, and live. Mother ought to have been prepared for his death.”
She did not hurry to pay this visit. She had so many clothes to buy, and furniture to order for her house in Ireland, but eventually she did so, and her husband let her go alone, a fact which served to irritate Winnie exceedingly.
CHAPTER XVII.
DRAWING TOGETHER.
Polly received Hubert Kestridge’s wife very quietly.
The girl was so pale and worn-looking, she had a much older air.
“She looks as yellow as a guinea,” was Winnie’s observation to herself. “In another year or so Polly will be absolutely plain. And what a nasty temper she has! Of course, she is as jealous as she can be because I have told her that Hubert and I are going to Sunstead.”
Mrs. Kestridge had not ventured to face Polly’s blunt-spoken tongue unprepared for attack. She was conscious of making her sister wince more than once, but when she condescended to personal remarks then Polly only laughed.
“My dear Winnie, I think you had better go. You evidently have come here because you imagined it was your duty. Now, please, understand you owe us no duty at all. Mother and I can live our lives without you, thank God! and we mean to do it. You are very pretty, and prosperous and happy, so you may go away and enjoy yourself; we are neither pretty nor prosperous, nor happy, and yet we would not change places with you for anything in the wide world! That sounds funny, doesn’t it?” she queried, after this was said, and her big eyes flashed, and she laughed again—a laugh that brought the color into Winnie’s face.