Miss Polly smiled rather sadly.
“I should never be lonely,” she said, “but I am afraid I shouldn’t be of much use. What should I do if the baby cried and wanted something to eat?”
“Oh, but her mother would be there to take care of her,” explained Daisy. “She’s got such a pretty mother, Miss Polly. I’m quite sure you would love the baby’s mother.”
“I am sure I should,” Miss Polly agreed. “Perhaps you will bring her to see me some time. Is she visiting you?”
“No,” said Daisy, “she’s—she’s come to see somebody who lives in this house. The baby’s father has come too. They stopped at our house first, because they wanted to ask some questions about—about the lady they’ve come to see. Oh, Miss Polly dear, please don’t look so white and queer; you—you scare us.”
It was true that Miss Polly had grown very white, but there was a wonderful light in her eyes, and she held the baby tight.
“Where are they?” she questioned tremulously. “I think I am beginning to understand, but, oh, my dears, how——”
Miss Polly did not finish her sentence, for at that moment Dulcie—who had been standing by the door—suddenly threw it open.
“It’s all right, Mr. Oliver,” she cried. “Miss Polly has guessed who you are, and she loves the baby.” And without waiting for anything more, she darted away, closely followed by Daisy.
Maggie was waiting for them in the lower hall, ready to ask innumerable questions, but she waited in vain, and when, at the end of half an hour, she ventured up-stairs, to listen outside Miss Polly’s door, there was no sound of children’s voices to be heard. There were other voices, though; Miss Polly’s with a ring of gladness in it that Maggie had never heard before, and her brother’s, low and full of tenderness. The pretty sister-in-law spoke, too, and once the baby crowed, but where were the children? Maggie was so puzzled that at last she could not endure the suspense any longer, and knocked softly at the closed door.