“It isn’t!” broke in Patricia, a-giggle. “It’s about you—oh, I mustn’t!” She clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Me?” Polly’s eyes grew round with wonder. “But, oh, do stop talking about it! I’m afraid you’ll tell more than your mother will like. Let’s think of something else—repeat the multiplication table, or—anything!”
Patricia laughed. “I guess you wouldn’t care much about the multiplication table, if you knew!”
“Don’t!” begged Polly, and stopped her ears, beginning to tell of a happening in the Latin class. By the time the little cottage was reached they were chatting gayly about school matters.
Mrs. Illingworth and Patricia spent the hour from eight to nine with Polly and her mother; but Dr. Dudley did not return from the hospital, and the mysterious “business” was not mentioned. Polly went to sleep that night wondering what it could be.
The next afternoon when she came from school she found her father and mother in the living-room. There was a note of tenseness in the atmosphere. Polly felt it vaguely as she threw off hat and coat. She went over to her mother with a caress, and Mrs. Dudley drew her down into her lap.
“I had a call from Mrs. Illingworth this afternoon,” began the Doctor.
Polly was instantly eager.
“About the business?” she asked.