"Oh, no, no, Amy," said Polly, trying to smile, "that you'll never do." She threw the note on the floor now, and began to rub the cold little hands again.
"But—but, I'm so frightened," gasped Amy.
Charlotte Chatterton walked to the window.
"I may be a stick, and an oyster, and an old sponge, and everybody wish me out of the way, but I'm not such a villain as to bother her now by telling her I won't sing. If they only won't applaud!" She shut her teeth tightly, and turned back again.
"I wouldn't, Miss Loughead," she began. But her voice sounded cold and unsympathetic, and Amy clung to Polly tighter than ever.
Ben now looked in. "Come, Polly," he said. "You really ought to be out here, and it's almost three o'clock."
Amy gave a gasp. "What shall I do?"
"You may stay in here, if you really wish," said Polly in a low voice, Charlotte Chatterton looking on with all her eyes, "and I will excuse you."
"And will—will you be disappointed in me?" Amy brought out the question shamefacedly.
"Very much," said Polly.