“All I want.”
Polly lingered, irresolute, her anxious eyes on her mother’s face.
Mrs. Dudley smiled faintly. “Go, dear. There is nothing you can do for me.”
Polly ate a scant meal, and washed the few dishes. Then she thought of Patricia. Softly shutting the door of the living-room, she went to the telephone.
Patricia herself answered.
“I’m awfully sorry,” Polly told her, “but I can’t come.”
“Oh, Polly Dudley!” Patricia broke in, “you said you would!”
“Mother is sick,” Polly explained, “and I mustn’t leave her.”
“Can’t she stay alone? I shouldn’t think she’d mind. You ask her. Oh, you must come! Mamma’ll send for you, and you can stay all night. Your father’ll be home then. Say, run and see if your mother won’t let you come! I’ll hold the wire.”