“What misfortune, Polly dear?” now asked Mr. Dalken, coming close to the girl.
“Oh, oh, oh! I can’t speak of it!” sobbed Polly.
“Perhaps I can comfort her, Madam, if you will allow me,” suggested Mr. Dalken, anxious to take Mrs. Courtney’s place as comforter.
She sent him a glance that said as plain as could be: “I can comfort her myself—you need not mind!”
Meanwhile Eleanor stood and rapidly pondered the situation. She felt like laughing outrageously at the prank Cupid had played on them, but she dared not utter a sound of mirth because that might spoil everything. And there might be a possible chance of saving the day, after all.
Suddenly, without any previous notice, Eleanor fell upon the other chair by the table and dropped her head upon her folded arms. Her body shook nervously, and Mr. Dalken believed her to be crying, too. He hastened to assure her that there was really nothing to cry about, but his assurance only caused the girl to quake the more.
Eleanor was not crying, but had felt that she must laugh or leave the room. As she had no desire to leave, she tried to hide her laughing in her arms upon the table. But when Mr. Dalken began to comfort her, she lost all control of herself and had an attack of hysterical laughter.
The two distraught adults were not able to cope with the situation, and they looked at each other in mute appeal. Mr. Dalken was the first to speak.
“We’d better bury the hatchet and do something for the children,” said he, anxiously. “Do you know what to do?”
“Had I better get a doctor, or something?” added he.