“I don’t think Mr. Ambleton looks as if he invented very much,” Mrs. Pennington said, gently. She paused a moment, and then she added: “I like this new friend of ours, Polly; I like him very much.”
Polly grunted.
“I don’t like anybody nowadays,” she said, turbulently. “I don’t believe in anybody. I think the whole world is odious.”
At this Mrs. Pennington had to smile.
“Things are bad with you to-day, Polly,” was her remark.
Polly kissed her.
“I am in a downright bad temper, my darling mother. Just leave me to myself, and I shall come round. Now, I am off marketing. Take care of yourself till I come back.”
When Polly arrived home from her modest shopping, her mother handed her two letters, with rather a triumphant expression.
“Harold is enjoying himself immensely, and Miss Ambleton writes so charmingly. She wants us to fix our own time about a week or ten days hence.”
Polly read through the letters.