“All right,” said Polly. “Only, is this a good time to speak to father? For I am quite sure he must be vexed with me.”
“You must not think so, Polly,” said Helen, kissing her. “Father has given you a week to try to do your best in, and he won’t say anything one way or another until the time is up. Come into his study now, for I know he is there, and we really ought to speak to him.”
Polly’s face was still flushed, but the Doctor, who had absolutely forgotten the simplicity of his late meal, received both the girls with equal affection.
“Well, my loves,” he said, “can I do anything for you? I am going for a pleasant drive into the country this afternoon. Would you both like to come?”
“I should very much,” said Helen; but Polly, with a somewhat important little sigh, remarked that household matters would keep her at home.
“Well, my dear, you must please yourself. But can I do anything for either of you now? You both look full of business.”
“We are, father,” said Polly, who was always the impetuous one. “We want to know if Paul and Virginia may come.”
“My dear, this is the second time you have spoken to me of those deserted orphans. I don’t understand you.”
“It is this, father,” explained Helen. “We think the children from Australia—the children mother was arranging about—might come here still. We mean that Polly and I would like them to come, and that we would do our best for them. We think, Polly and I do, that mother, even though she is not here, would still like the strangers to come.”
“Sit down, Helen,” said the Doctor; the harassed look had once again come across his face, and even Polly noticed the dimness in his eyes.