“And my Miss Rose—she—”
“What?”
Moved by the keen hunger of his eyes, Polly hesitated. Her face betrayed a sudden change of mind.
“Wants to see you, sir,” she said, resolutely.
“To see me?”
Evan stood up, so pale that Polly was frightened.
“Where is she? Where can I meet her?”
“Please don’t take it so, Mr. Harrington.”
Evan commanded her to tell him what her mistress had said.
Now up to this point Polly had spoken truth. She was positive her mistress did want to see him. Polly, also, with a maiden’s tender guile, desired to bring them together for once, though it were for the last time, and for no good on earth. She had been about to confide to him her young mistress’s position toward Lord Laxley, when his sharp interrogation stopped her. Shrinking from absolute invention, she remarked that of course she could not exactly remember Miss Rose’s words; which seemed indeed too much to expect of her.