Ilga knew her victim well enough to realize that any taunt flung at the adored father would rebound upon his daughter with double force, and she winked exultingly to her companions as Polly made no attempt at retort, but went straight to her desk and bent her white, drawn little face over her speller. It would have given her an added delight if she had known that the book was upside down and its print blurred by a mist of tears.
At the close of a session Polly usually waited for David; but this noon she hurried on alone, and he overtook her only after a quick little run.
“This is great, to go off and leave a fellow!” he grumbled pleasantly.
“Oh, excuse me!” she replied. “I forgot.”
“Forgot!” he began laughingly, but stopped. Her gravity did not invite humor.
He wondered what had gone wrong, but was wise enough to ask no questions. After an ineffectual attempt at talk, they fell back into silence, separating at the cottage entrance with sober good-byes.
The kitchen door was unlocked, and Polly walked slowly through the house, longing yet dreading to meet her mother. Down the stairway came the sound of voices. She stopped to listen.
“Oh, dear!—Miss Curtis!” she sighed, and turned towards the little library.
Although since the recovery of Elsie’s birthday ring the nurse had been unusually kind and friendly, Polly could not help remembering that she had once believed her to be the cause of its mysterious disappearance, and just now it seemed impossible to meet her with composure. So she curled up forlornly in her father’s big chair, hastily grabbing a book as an excuse for being there.
The story was one she had never read, and its interest was proved in that time and troubles were soon forgotten. Thus her mother found her, and thanks to the respite from Ilga’s haunting words she was able to respond to the visitor’s greeting with something of her usual happy humor.