"No!" she exclaimed. "Really, has he?"
Polly regarded her in amazement. "You act as if you are glad of it," she said.
"I am," confessed Constance, and breaking off one of the big red roses she rose, surveyed herself in the glass, tried the effect of it against her dark hair and finally pinned it on her dressing-gown.
Polly plumped into a big rocking-chair to vent her indignation.
"I don't see anything to giggle at!" she declared. "Johnny Gamble's a friend of mine. I'm going home."
"Don't, Polly," laughed Constance. "Why, this is one of Johnny's roses;" and she gave it an extra touch—really a quite affectionate one.
"I'm all mussed up in my mind," complained Polly in a maze of perplexity. "Johnny Gamble made a million dollars so he could ask you to throw away your million and marry him, and you were so tickled with the idea that you kept score for him."
Constance smiled irritatingly.
"I kept score because it was fun. He never told me why he wanted the money."
"You may look like an innocent kid, but you knew that much," accused Polly.