Perhaps Miss Adams partly understood the girl's sensations, for without waiting for her to continue her speech she immediately asked: "What was the name of that place in the German forests about which your friends have written you? Did they not say that they had found a little house for themselves and another not far away for us? It might be pleasant to go there for a time."
In endeavoring to hide her excitement Polly now had to turn her head and pretend to be looking at something out of the opposite side of the cab. For this suggestion of Miss Adams represented the summit of her own desires. Of course she had adored the sights and experiences of the weeks in Paris and London, and life had never been so fascinating; yet never for a moment had she ceased to look forward and yearn for a reunion with Betty and Esther. Moreover, Betty's picture of the country where they now were sounded like a scene from one of the German operas.
But Polly only murmured: "The village is called 'Waldheim,'" and made no reply when Miss Adams returned: "Perhaps it may be a good idea for us to go on there in a week or ten days, if we can make the necessary arrangements."
By this time, however, their cab had stopped in front of a small, inconspicuous brown hotel, which was one of the quietest and yet most fashionable hotels in London, and within a few moments the two women disappeared into their own rooms.
Half an hour afterwards Polly walked into their private sitting room. There she sat down at a desk, intending to write to Betty Ashton before the dinner hour.
In making her European trip under such unusual circumstances Polly had not brought with her a great number of clothes. Nevertheless her stepfather had insisted that she have whatever might be necessary and Mrs. Wharton had taken great care and forethought to see that her things were beautiful and appropriate. For Polly was not an easy person to dress suitably. Persons who have more temperament than sheer physical beauty always are difficult. It is impossible that they should look well in any character of changing fashion or in the colors that are out of harmony with their natures. For instance, one could never conceive of Polly O'Neill in a pale blue gown, though for Mollie or Betty Ashton it might be one's immediate choice. White and red, pale yellow or pink were Polly's shades for evening wear and either brown or green for the street.
Tonight at work on her letter she appeared younger than in truth she was, like a girl of sixteen instead of nineteen. For although her hair was worn in a heavy braided coil encircling her head, her dress was extremely simple. It was of messaline silk of ivory whiteness and made with a short Empire waist and narrow, clinging skirt. There was no sign of trimming, except where the dress was cut low into a square at the throat and edged with a fold of tulle.
On first coming into the sitting room, Polly, who had always an instinctive attraction toward bright colors, had taken a red carnation from a vase on a table and was now wearing the flower carelessly fastened inside her belt.
During the first absorption of her writing she had paid no heed to the door's quiet opening. Nor did she stir when a strange man entering the room took his seat before the tiny fire which Miss Adams always had lighted in the evenings, since the English summer is so often unpleasantly cool to American people. Neither did the man appear to have observed Polly.
When the girl finally did become aware of his presence she remembered that Miss Adams had neglected to mention the name of the guest whom they were expecting to dinner. And although Polly was becoming more accustomed to the almost daily meetings with strangers, she always suffered a few first moments of painful shyness.