No need to tell Polly that. She was soon ready, and before long there they were, Aunty Whitney and she, driving off to bring Alexia home and comfort her up.
"She isn't home," said the maid, who answered the door-bell of Mrs. Cummings's aristocratic boarding-house on the Avenue.
"Isn't home?" repeated Polly, faintly.
"No'm."
"What is it, Polly?" asked Mrs. Whitney, from the carriage.
"Alexia isn't home," said Polly, disconsolately, and feeling as if the whole world were out of joint.
"Miss Rhys took her away," said the maid, who, beginning to be communicative, saw no reason why she shouldn't tell the whole, "and she didn't want to go, either."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Polly.
"No, she didn't; but Miss Rhys wouldn't leave her alone 'cause she was crying so, and she was going to Miss Barnard's to tea, and so she made her go, too."
"Aunty,"—Polly flew down the steps,—"oh, can't we," she cried desperately, "go over and get Alexia; can't we, Aunty?"