"There is no call for an apology from you," said Mrs. Chatterton coldly. "Set the tray down on the table, and get a basin of water; I need to be bathed."
Polly stood quite still, even forgetting to deposit the tray.
"Set the tray down, I told you," repeated Mrs. Chatterton sharply, "and then get the basin of water."
"I will call Hortense," said Polly quietly, placing the tray as desired.
"Hortense has gone to the apothecary's," said Mrs. Chatterton, "and I will not have one of the other maids; they are too insufferable."
And indeed Polly knew that it would be small use to summon one of them, as Martha, the most obliging, had airily tossed her head when asked to do some little service for the sick woman that very morning, declaring, "I will never lift another finger for that Madame Chatterton."
"My neck aches, and my side, and my head," said Mrs. Chatterton irritably; "why do you not do as I bid you?"
For one long instant, Polly hesitated; then she turned to rush from the room, a flood of angry, bitter feelings surging through her heart, more at the insufferable tone and manner, than at what she was bidden to do. Only turned; and she was back by the side of the bed, and looking down into the fretful, dictatorial old face.
"I will bathe you, Mrs. Chatterton," she said gently; "I'll bring the water in a minute."