“I don’t see what it can be,” replied Polly. “Do you know, father?”
“You wouldn’t wish me to rob Leonora of the first telling of her news,” he objected.
“No,” she admitted slowly; “but I can’t imagine why she’s in such a hurry. I wonder if she is to stay at the hospital longer than she expected—that isn’t it, is it?”
Dr. Dudley shook his head.
“My advice is to make haste with your toilet and run over to the hospital and find out.”
“Yes,” Polly agreed, “I will.” Yet she stood still, her forehead puckered over the possible good things that could have happened to her friend.
Dr. Dudley turned away, and then halted.
“Isn’t your mother waiting for you?” he suggested.
“Oh, I forgot!” she cried, and flew back to where Mrs. Dudley sat, brush and comb in hand.
“How my hair grows!” commented Polly, after discussing the news awaiting her, and silently concluding that whatever her mother knew she did not intend to disclose. “It will be a year next week since it was cut. I shall have mermaid tresses before I know it. Isn’t it nice that I was hurt? Because if I hadn’t been I should never have known you and father. Did you expect to marry him when he took you to ride on Elsie’s birthday?”