“Well,” between a sob and a chuckle, “I think I’ll tie a card round my neck, and print on it, ‘Not for sale.’ As if money’d make up for you and mother!” She hid her face on the snug shoulder. Then she popped up.
“How would the minister like it, if you should go to him and say, ‘Here, I want your wife’ (I heard you tell mother, the other day, that you thought she was beautiful), ‘and I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you’ll let me have her!’ How do you think he’d like that?”
“Not a bit!” laughed the Doctor. “He might knock me down.”
“He ought to!” asserted Polly. “And I don’t like it any better than he would. Mrs. Jocelyn didn’t offer me money, but ’twas just the same. I don’t want to be bought!” She turned suddenly. “You don’t think I ought to go, do you, mother?”
“No, indeed!” The tone was emphatic enough to satisfy Polly. “If you went I think I should have to go, too!”
“When I go, we’ll all go!” declared Polly, “and you can tell Mrs. Illingworth that.” Which sent the Doctor off smiling.
Polly cuddled down contentedly in her mother’s arms.
“I’m sorry for Patricia,” she sighed.
Mrs. Dudley knew Polly, and waited.