"No. I want to go home. I—you know how it is, Mrs. Geraldine, when you feel you just got to go home!"
Indeed Polly knew!
"For how long?" she asked. "You don’t think you’re really seriously ill, do you? You think a little rest at home will set you up in a very short time?"
Angelica hesitated a moment.
"I don’t think——” she began. "I don’t guess I’ll come back."
"Never?"
"No."
"But aren’t you happy here? Aren’t you comfortable? Tell me what’s wrong, and perhaps we can arrange it."
"You couldn’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay—not for anything."
There was no mistaking Angelica’s tone. Polly saw that the girl was absolutely determined and not to be turned—not without a long argument, anyway, and that she had no desire to undertake. What is more, she had too much sense to ask questions. She had a suspicion that her husband was somehow concerned in Angelica’s going; there was probably a great deal in this thing of which she decidedly preferred to remain ignorant.