Thurley left the room. She tried Ernestine’s antidote for heart stirrings as she practised scales, louder and louder in more and more glorious a voice until Miss Clergy fell asleep, happy at heart—for had she not at the eleventh hour saved a genius from mediocrity and secured revenge for her withered tragedy?
The first Sunday morning in May, Polly Harris appeared to carry Thurley off, first to her attic to retrieve something she had forgotten, and next to Collin Hedley’s garden and château a few miles up the Hudson.
“I knew this wasn’t lesson day and so I was sure you would come along. Wear something old because Collin’s place is one of those shabby-elegant affairs where new costumes seem vulgar. I think the only time when Lissa is ever uncomfortable is at Collin’s garden parties, but she has to come because she is jealous of Mark and there she is, a great, painted doll among real things.”
Polly audaciously danced about Miss Clergy’s rooms while Thurley hurried into her blue serge with a flat, black sailor. Polly kept up a pleasing conversation with Miss Clergy as to Thurley’s début and the proposed trip abroad, the wonderful things Bliss had been doing in London and what a jolly world it was anyhow, actually tucking an extra pillow behind Miss Clergy’s back and leaving her the last issue of a shocking art journal as her proper Sabbath reading. Hobart had truly prophesied that when Polly went to heaven she would be given the position of keeping every one chirked up when things promised to be a trifle ponderous.
“Let’s be ordinary critters and fly down to my sky parlor on a Fifth Avenue ’bus,” she proposed. “I pay the fares,” jingling her coin purse.
“Oh, no, Polly,” Thurley interposed. Thurley did not comprehend what Ernestine had tried to impress so carefully upon her—that Polly was not yet defeated, that she must be careful lest she hint of the opinions of the family which were that defeat for Polly was inevitable.
Polly pursed up her mouth crossly. “Do, Thurley, this is my party,” she insisted, after which Thurley gave way and let Polly spend two precious dimes in lordly fashion.
As they proceeded down the Avenue, seated on the top of a Washington Square ’bus and quite as happy as when Ernestine had taken them out in her motor, Polly said,
“I haven’t had the chance of really doing anything for you, Thurley—”