“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve brought her,” cried Daisy, joyfully, “and the baby, too. Miss Polly will be so happy to see you all. She’s got your pictures, and she’s told us so much about you, and—and—oh, I am so glad, so glad!” Suddenly Daisy’s over-strained nerves gave way, and she began to cry.
It was Mrs. Oliver who drew the trembling child down beside her on the sofa, and soothed and comforted her while her husband questioned Dulcie. The letter had been a great shock to him, he said; he had never dreamed that his sister was not perfectly well. Could Dulcie give him any particulars of the case? And Dulcie, only too glad to tell him dear Miss Polly’s story, told all she knew of the little cripple’s courage and unselfishness. The story lost nothing in the telling, and before it was finished Mrs. Oliver was crying softly, and there were tears in her husband’s eyes as well.
“She’s the dearest, loveliest person,” finished Dulcie, with a catch in her voice, and Daisy added pleadingly:
“You’re not angry with her, are you, Mr. Oliver?”
“Angry,” repeated Miss Polly’s brother huskily, “no, indeed, how could I be? God bless her. It has been a wretched mistake, that’s all, and I am very much to blame for not having come to see her long before this, and found out for myself how matters were. I think we can go now, Helen; there doesn’t seem to be any more to hear.”
But Mrs. Oliver looked a little doubtful.
“Don’t you think she ought to be prepared first?” she suggested. “The shock of seeing us so unexpectedly might be bad for her, if she is not strong.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Tom Oliver admitted. “I was so anxious to see the dear little woman that for the moment I forgot everything else. We had better see Miss Collins, and get her to break the news.”
“Miss Collins has gone away,” said Dulcie. “Her sister was ill, and she went to take care of her. A Mrs. Brown is keeping the house while she’s away, and I don’t think she knows Miss Polly very well.”
Mr. Oliver looked a good deal perplexed.