Polly, quick of wit, did what she could. “Mrs. Haddon,” said she impulsively, “we didn’t know you were here when we came in. We didn’t know you were in town. It’s all a mistake—everything’s a mistake. We wanted to go away right now—but they wouldn’t let us—there’s no other place for us. Won’t you let me talk to you now? May we——”
Her gesture indicated the room from which Marcia had but now emerged, which seemed to offer privacy for what Polly Pendleton as well as herself knew was to be a scene.
“As you like,” said Marcia Haddon icily, and held open the door, closing it as the other entered.
“It’s all a mistake, Mrs. Haddon,” began Polly once more as she found herself alone with the other.
“So it would seem,” replied Marcia, still coldly. “Not one of my own making.”
“We didn’t know a thing about it, Mrs. Haddon. I’m sorry, awfully sorry—sorry as I can be.”
“You would seem to have cause for regret, perhaps? I suppose you refer to my husband’s death?”
Polly nodded rapidly, her upper lip trembling a little bit. The situation was not in the least easy for her.
“I can fancy it would mean something to you.”