“Put the parcels down,” said Mrs. Chatterton, scarcely glancing at her, “I cannot attend to you now. Go on, Polly.”
So Polly went on, until the fashionable and social world had been so thoroughly canvassed that even Mrs. Chatterton was quite convinced that she could get no more from the paper.
“You may go now,” she said, but with a hungry glance for the first page. Then she tore her gaze away, and repeated more coldly than ever, “You may go.”
Polly ran off, dismayed to find how happy she was at the release. Her feet, unaccustomed to sitting still so long, were numb, and little prickles were running up and down her legs. She hurried as fast as she could into Mamsie's room, feeling in need of all the good cheer she could find.
“Mrs. Fisher has gone out,” said Jane, going along the hall.
“Gone out!” repeated Polly, “Oh, where? Do you know, Jane?”
“I don't exactly know,” said Jane, “but she took Miss Phronsie; and I think it's shopping they went for. Mr. King has taken them in the carriage.”
“Oh, I know it is,” cried Polly, and a dreadful feeling surged through her. Why had she spent all this time with that horrible old woman, and lost this precious treat!
“They thought you had gone to the Salisbury School,” said Jane, wishing she could give some comfort, “for they wanted you awfully to go.”
“And now I've lost it all,” cried Polly at a white heat—“all this perfectly splendid time with Grandpapa and Mamsie and Phronsie just for the sake of a horrible—”