Quickly grasping its contents, Julia threw her arms around her friend.
“Come, my carriage is ready.”
But the carriage did not appear for more than five minutes, during which Polly’s sobs were painful to hear.
“It’s her father,” explained Clarissa to a group of girls who had withdrawn some distance from the weeping Polly. “He died this morning, according to the telegram.”
“This morning!” cried one of the girls. “Then it’s a wonder that she wasn’t notified earlier. Why, it takes no time for a telegram to travel from Atlanta to Boston.”
“A telegram!” cried Ruth, who had just come behind the scenes; “why, that reminds me. But what’s the matter with Polly?”
“Why, she’s just had news of her father’s death, and she must feel dreadfully to think that she has been acting this evening, for he died, they say, this morning.”
While Elspeth was speaking Ruth had turned very pale. She put her hand in her little velvet chatelaine and drew out a yellow envelope, apparently another telegram. Without a word to the others she walked up to Polly and Julia.
“This is a telegram that came early in the evening, before we began; you ought to have had it.”
But Polly did not wait for further explanation; she tore open the envelope. Then after reading the telegram, she thrust it inside her dress.