“Your servant was most impertinent,” the man said, sharply; “her manner was so misleading I insisted on being admitted.”
“Yes,” said Polly, calmly; “I heard you, and I consider you were very rude.”
A faint smile flickered across the man’s face for the space of an instant.
“May I ask to whom I have the honor of speaking?” he said, with a touch of amused courtesy.
“I am Polly—I mean Mary—Pennington,” the girl drew herself up to her full height, “and may I ask who you are?” she queried, in her own peculiarly frank manner.
“My name is Valentine Ambleton. I am a cousin of Mark Wentworth.”
Polly’s expression changed.
“Oh,” she said, a little frightened now at her temerity. “Oh! won’t you sit down, Mr. Ambleton? My father is at business in the city, but my mother will be back directly. I expect her every minute; she has gone out with my eldest sister.”
“Miss Christina Pennington?” queried Mr. Ambleton, with a strange tone in his voice as he spoke Chrissie’s name.
Polly nodded her head.