At dinner she told where she had left her eighth rose.
“I am glad you happened in there,” returned the Doctor. “He seems to be a fine young fellow, a chemist, just out of college. He came up from New York to see a friend, and while he was assisting with some chemical work he was temporarily blinded by an explosion. He is coming on all right; but for a few days I have noticed that he has seemed rather gloomy. Go again! You will do him good.”
Several times during the next week Polly obeyed her father’s injunction, and accepted Mr. Westwood’s repeated invitations. With every visit the two became better friends, and Polly waited almost as eagerly as the patient himself for the day when his bandaged eyes should be released. Only in Polly’s heart there was not a little regret mingled with her anticipated joy, for that would herald Mr. Westwood’s going away. Still she would not let the disturbing thought detract from her present pleasure, and she ran in and out of the young man’s room in a happy, quite-at-home fashion.
She was starting for one of these little visits, when her mother called to her.
“I wish you would go down to Besse and Drayton’s, and get me a yard more of this ribbon,” she requested; “I find I haven’t enough.” She held out a bit of blue satin.
“I’ll be back with it in a jiffy—a ten-minute jiffy,” laughed Polly.
Off she flew, tripping down the street and around the corner so briskly that she nearly ran into a little man who was proceeding at a quick, heedless pace.
“Why, Mr. Bean!” she cried.
“I declare, if ’tain’t Polly! little Polly! How do you do, my dear? How do you do?”
As soon as Mr. Bean learned that Polly was on her way down to the department store, he turned about, and walked along by her side, listening delightedly to her happy chatter.