Neither did she let it be known to father or mother.
“Prob’ly Patricia isn’t related to me at all,” she argued to herself. “It is silly to think anything about it.”
Yet the subject was still present in her thoughts at the beginning of the afternoon session, and she wondered when the opportunity that she longed for would appear. It came soon, and not at all according to her conjectures.
School was dismissed in order of deportment marks, those who stood highest for the day passing out ahead. Among this small number was Polly. When she reached the street door she was dismayed to see that it was raining, and she stood hesitant on the sill, having neither raincoat, overshoes, nor umbrella. Indifferently she noticed a limousine waiting at the curb, and wondered for whom it had been sent.
“I think you go my way,” spoke a clear voice behind her. “May I take you home?”
Polly turned quickly, to look into the gray eyes of Patricia Illingworth.
“Oh, thank you!” was the smiling response. “I didn’t know it was raining until just this minute.”
Before she had time for more, the other had caught her arm, and she was being escorted to the street under Mrs. Illingworth’s green silk umbrella. Then she was seated beside Patricia, and they were gliding along the road. Even in her delighted surprise the thought that all day had been uppermost pushed itself to her lips. But it was Patricia that spoke first.
“I have been wanting to know you ever since I first spied you this morning,” she beamed. “I was in the front door when you were going in at the side. I knew we’d be friends right away.”