“I don’t think I care very much if I don’t see anyone of my relations again,” Polly frequently informed herself.
The attitude of the family indeed acted on her as a kind of spur. It made her desire for independence greater than ever, and her determination to stand firm by her mother more eager.
As Christmas had passed, and the new year had come, Polly found herself wondering at odd times if that big Mr. Ambleton would ever pay them a visit.
“As he asked himself, I think it would be rather rude if he did not come,” she said once to her mother. “Not that I want him, however,” she added, quickly.
Mrs. Pennington said, in her quiet, soft way, that she thought she would like to see Mr. Ambleton.
“From what Hubert said of him, I feel sure he must be a nice man,” she remarked.
“Well,” said Polly to this, “if he is not nice he must be awfully horrid, for there is so much of him! Big people ought to have more virtues than little ones.”
“Somehow,” said Mrs. Pennington, looking up from her sewing and falling, as she always now endeavored to do, into Polly’s mood, “somehow I think I like little people best, Polly.”
And Polly kissed her.
“Then, now I know you like me a tiny, teeny bit, you darling!” she said.