“You may pick out the one you like best,” said Mrs. Parrott.—Page [234].
“I really believe you have made a good selection, Polly,” said Miss Parrott, the color rising to her sallow cheek. It was so long since any one had called her “dear.” “Well now, I am sorry to say it is getting time for me to send you home, for I have much enjoyed the day, but your mother will never allow you to come again if I keep you too long,” and she led the way into the house, where Polly got her hat and Davie his cap.
Miss Parrott led the way down the broad hall, with its rugs on the polished floor and the portraits of her ancestors lining the walls. She looked back as she neared the big oaken door to see Polly standing spellbound before the drawing-room, and Davie by her side.
“Would you like to go in, dear?” Miss Parrott came back and pointed within the long apartment.
“Oh, if I may,” said Polly, in an awe-struck little voice.
“Certainly, dear, and Davie, too.” Then she followed, curious to see what would first claim attention.
Polly went straight to the big grand piano standing half across two long French windows, and stood quite still. David came softly after.
“If you can play, Polly,” said Miss Parrott, not thinking of anything else to break the silence, “I am quite willing that you should, dear.”
“Oh, I can’t play,” said Polly, coming out of her absorption with a little laugh at the very idea.
“She plays on the table,” said Davie, looking up at Miss Parrott.