As the little girl had expected, she was not allowed to forget that afternoon's adventure, for it was far too good a joke to be easily dropped; but she was endowed with a sense of humour, and did not much mind having the laugh turned against herself.
In the course of a few days Roger returned to school and a short while later, Polly learnt that Mrs. Marsh's visitors had left the Rookery, whereupon she began to speculate when she would be invited to spend the day with her aunt which that lady had mentioned. But the looked-for invitation did not arrive, and Polly was, at length, reluctantly obliged to conclude that it was not coming at all.
"Aunt Janie could not have really intended to ask me," she thought bitterly, "she cannot have forgotten what she said. She is very, very unkind."
She did not mention her disappointment to her mother, but she spoke of it to Cousin Becky, who listened and sympathised with her.
"Aunt Janie's a nasty, selfish thing!" cried Polly hotly.
"My dear, my dear—" began Cousin Becky expostulatingly, but the indignant little girl continued in the same vehement tone—
"She is, Cousin Becky. I saw her driving by herself in the town yesterday, and—and if you had a nice carriage with plenty of room in it, wouldn't you want to give drives to people who never hardly have any fun? I know you would, and so would mother, or anyone who wasn't dreadfully selfish!"
"My dear, your aunt does not think. I am sure she never guesses how much you have set your heart on driving with her—"
"No, and she doesn't care!" broke in Polly passionately. "Oh, how I should like to be rich! It's miserable being poor."
"Do you want money so much, Polly?" the old lady questioned. "Tell me what you would do if you had a lot of money."