Presently as they strolled into the hall, Polly heard Annabel say, “I am really sorry, Mr. Radcliffe, that we have no books relating to your family. To-morrow, however, when the Librarian is here she may find something. Her assistant is rather new to the work.”
“Oh, I can assure you,” the young man responded effusively, “I have been more than repaid for coming. To see the interior of this building is indeed an experience, and under such auspices!” Annabel accepted the compliment with a becoming blush. “She always can blush to order,” one of her critics had been known to say.
Mr. Radcliffe’s next remark was inaudible to Polly, but Annabel’s, “Why, certainly, I will see what I can do,” rang out quite distinctly. Leaving the young man alone for a moment, Annabel went into one of the smaller rooms leading off the hall. In a few minutes she returned.
“Excuse me for keeping you so long. I had some difficulty in getting it,” and she held out to Mr. Radcliffe a slip of white paper.
“Oh, thank you, thank you a thousand times; no book-plate in my collection will be more valued than this.”
“Well, I declare,” thought Polly, “a book-plate for a souvenir! Perhaps it’s all right to give it to a descendant of the Radcliffes as we haven’t any relics of the immortal Anne Radcliffe to show; but really, I wonder if Mr. Radcliffe thinks that Annabel is President, Dean, and Secretary all combined? It’s a pity that he couldn’t have come at an hour when more of the powers could have been seen.”
When Polly reached the first floor of Fay House, Mr. Radcliffe was no longer there, and Annabel, seated in the conversation room, with a magazine before her on the table, had her eyes fixed dreamily on space.
“Thinking of Anne Radcliffe?” queried Polly, as she went by. But Annabel did not answer, and, passing on, Polly met Clarissa at the outer door.
“Such fun!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been laughing for five minutes.”
“Tell me,” responded Polly, “that I may laugh, too.”