“Yes, but I thought Bob was here. I never would have dumped myself down upon a lot of strangers like this.”
“If that’s all that bothers you, turn over and get another nap. If the Superintendent’s own sister ain’t got a right to a few weeks’ board and lodging, I don’t know who has. As for the boys, don’t worry about them. I’m an honest-to-goodness widow and I guess I can chaperon you all right.”
Polly laughed again. Mrs. Van Zandt’s eye took in her appearance thoughtfully.
“Do you sleep in those things all the time?” she said. “I mean, are they all you brought?”
Polly glanced at her diaphanous pajamas and nodded cheerfully.
“Well, I’ll see that you have an extra blanket. Nights are cold here,” and Mrs. Van hurried away. Polly called after her. “Well?” she said, reappearing in the doorway.
“Is this Bob’s room, Mrs. Van Zandt?” the girl asked.
“No, it’s Mr. Hard’s, but you needn’t worry about him. He’ll be quite comfortable at the other house.”
“I was wondering——” Polly blushed. One hates to be curious, and yet—“I was wondering who that was?” pointing to a photograph on the dresser.
“Her name’s Conrad—she’s a widow woman from Boston, an old friend of his. Pretty, ain’t she?”