Polly, off in her own room now, heard him, and for the first time in her life, wished she need not answer.
"Polly—Polly!" the determined call rang down the passage, causing her to run fast with a "Yes, Grandpapa, I'm coming."
"Now, I should just like to inquire," began Mr. King, taking her by her two young shoulders and looking down into the flushed face, "what she has been saying to you." "Oh, Grandpapa!" down went Polly's brown head, "don't make me tell. Please don't, Grandpapa."
"I shall!" declared Mr. King; "every blessed word. Now begin!"
"She—she wanted me to go out of the room," said Polly, in a reluctant gasp.
"Indeed!" snorted Mr. King. "Well, she will soon go out of that room.
Indeed, I might say, out of the house."
"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Polly, in great distress, and raising the brown eyes—he was dismayed to find them filling with tears—"don't, don't send her away! It is all my fault; indeed it is, Grandpapa!"
"Your fault," cried Mr. King irately; "you must not say such things, child; that's silly; you don't know the woman."
"Grandpapa," cried Polly, holding back the storm of tears to get the words out, "I never told you—I couldn't—but I said perfectly dreadful words to her a week ago. Oh, Grandpapa! I did, truly."
"That's right," said the old gentleman in a pleased tone. "What were they, pray tell? Let us know."