“Perhaps they seem so to you. I s’pose that’s the kind they have at hospitals. The little Pole over there, he squeezed my fingers so they ’most ache yet, and that tall Irish kid with the red hair is the worst of the bunch!”
“Oh, Ilga, he’s a splendid boy, and so brave! I’m sure Otto didn’t mean to hurt you; he is kind as can be.”
“It’s all right, if you want them; but I guess I’ll go home. I thought there’d be something besides just games.”
She turned towards the staircase, yet lingered.
“I’m sorry you don’t like it,” Polly replied simply. “I’ll play anything you wish.”
“No, I’m going.”
She tossed her head, and took a step upward.
Polly was in terror lest somebody should overhear, for Ilga’s voice was sharp with excitement.
“I’ll stay and play with the school boys and girls,” the dissatisfied guest yielded.
“But I can’t separate them,” Polly protested in dismay.