“You know that isn’t true, Princess, and never has been,” Meg returned, rumpling her pretty yellow hair as she always did in any kind of perplexity or distress. “I never have even dreamed of being so charming as you are. You know that John has always said——”
Alas, if only Polly O’Neill had been present Mollie might in some fashion have been persuaded not to speak at this unlucky instant! But Polly had always cruelly called her an “enfant terrible.” Now Mollie was too puzzled to appreciate the situation and so determined to get at the bottom of it.
“But does Anthony come to see you and not Betty?” Mollie demanded inexorably of the embarrassed girl.
Meg nodded. “Yes, but it is only because Betty——”
“Please don’t try to offer any explanation, Meg, I would rather you would not. It is most unnecessary,” Betty now interrupted gently, in a tone that few persons in her life had ever opposed. Then, reaching over, she began pouring out fresh cups of tea for her friends. “You need not worry, Mollie, Anthony and I are perfectly good friends. We have not quarreled, only he has not so much time these days now he is getting to be such a distinguished person. But do tell me whether you have the faintest idea of what Polly O’Neill is doing, or where she is, or a single solitary thing about her?”
Always Mollie’s attention could be distracted by any mention of her sister’s name and it may be that Betty was counting upon this. For Meg had gotten up and strolled over toward the window, leaving the two other girls comparatively alone.
Bluer and more serious than ever grew Mollie’s big, innocent eyes.
“Polly is well, or at least says she is. That much mother confides in me,” Mollie replied soberly. “But where Polly is or what she is doing I have no more idea than you have, not so much perhaps. You were always better at understanding her than I have ever been. But then even Miss Adams has never heard a line from Polly since she told her good-by in New York several months ago. By the way, Betty, Miss Adams and Mr. Hunt are going to be playing here in Boston during the holidays. Won’t you and Esther ask them to your Christmas dinner party?”
Betty at this moment got up from the floor. “Yes, I have seen the notices of their coming and I am glad. We can have an almost home Christmas, can’t we?” Then she walked over toward the window where Meg had continued standing, gazing with no special interest out into the street. The high wind was still blowing and with it occasional flurries of wet snow.
“Do let us draw down the blinds, Meg, it is getting late and is not very cheerful outside.” With apparent unconsciousness Betty slipped an arm about her friend’s waist and for another instant they both stared out into the almost deserted street.