“Remember!” Polly sat up as if stabbed. “Oh, if I could only forget!” A violent shudder shook her. Regaining her composure by degrees, she finally straightened up. “There, the storm is over,” and she dashed her hand across her eyes. “Never allude to this again—promise me.” She spoke with vehemence, and Judith laid a quieting hand on hers.
“I give you my word never to speak of the subject,” she pledged.
“Not even to your husband?”
“No, not even to Joe.” Her answer, although prompt, held a note of reluctance.
Polly’s smile was twisted. Opening her vanity box, she inspected her face in its tiny mirror. A faint shriek escaped her.
“I’m a fright!” she ejaculated, and rising, went over to Judith’s dressing table and proceeded to powder her nose. Drawing out a box of rouge, Polly applied some of it to her cheeks. “There, that’s better.” She turned briskly and looked at Judith. “Do you think your father will discover it is not natural bloom?” she asked flippantly.
Judith’s answer was a stare; Polly’s transition from grief to pert nonchalance was startling.
“Father is not very well,” she replied slowly. “Joe went to inquire for him just before breakfast was announced, and Mother said he was asleep and could not be disturbed.”
Polly contemplated herself in the mirror. “I am sorry,” she remarked, but her tone was perfunctory and a brief silence followed. “Gracious, it is nearly eleven o’clock. Judith, I must fly; for your father left a pile of correspondence in the den——”
“Wait, Polly.” Judith, who had followed her across the bedroom, laid her hand against the door. “There is a question you must answer. Were you—did you,” she stumbled in her speech, “did you know that Austin was to return here last night?”