"At Miss Barnard's, is she?" asked Mrs. Whitney, who had heard only part of the maid's information.
"Yes, and Alexia does hate to go there," said Polly, in a burst, "and she was crying. Oh, Aunty!"
That "Oh, Aunty!" settled it. "Yes, child, tell Thomas to drive to Miss Barnard's, and get in."
So Polly, seeing a little light on what had been so dark and miserable, hopped into the carriage, and off they went to Miss Barnard's.
Miss Hetty Barnard was a maiden lady upon whose company Miss Rhys placed herself whenever the dull routine of boarding-house life, or a new stitch in knitting or crochet, gave her a desire for the society of her friend. All such visits Alexia carefully avoided if a possible thing. And Polly, knowing full well the details of those enforced upon her by her aunt, as Alexia, the day after, poured the miseries of each in her ear, sat forward on the green leather seat and clasped her hands, impatient to get there.
"Oh, if they only haven't gone in to tea," she breathed.
"It's early yet, child," said Mrs. Whitney, reassuringly, "scarcely half after five o'clock," glancing at the little silver watch in the carriage pocket before her; "so don't worry, Polly."
"But Miss Barnard has tea so very early," said Polly, in a small panic. "Oh, here we are!" she brought up gleefully, as the carriage rolled up to the Barnard door and stopped.
"Yes, here we are," laughed Mrs. Whitney, just as well pleased, as Polly jumped out and ran up the steps.
Polly hadn't half finished, "Is Alexia Rhys here, and can I see her?" before a rustle began in the stuffy little parlor, and out rushed the object of her search.