Meanwhile Polly was busy with captivating new thoughts, and shortly she sent a question straight into their talk.
“How much money have I in—Oh, I do beg your pardon!” she cried, meeting her father’s glance. Then she laughed. “I had been thinking and didn’t even know you were talking.”
“What is it that is so engrossing?” smiled her mother.
“I’ll tell you,” she returned gayly. “Father, how much money have I in the bank?”
“I don’t know. I can give you some—how much?” He thrust his hand into his pocket.
“No, no!” cried Polly; “I don’t want any now—none of yours at all. May I take some of my money and buy whatever I choose?”
“It depends on what you wish it for and how much it costs.”
“It can cost almost any amount, but I’ll try to be contented with a cheap one. Father, I want to buy an automobile and learn to run it myself.” Her eyes were bent anxiously on his face.
“No, Robert,” interposed Mrs. Dudley, “don’t let her! I shouldn’t be easy a minute.”
The Doctor smiled. “She is equal to it, Lucy—you needn’t worry; though it seems rather unnecessary when there’s a good car in the family already.”