That was all she said; and that utterance was so blurred by a choking gasp as to render it uncertain if that was what she had said.
“Pollie? Who is Pollie?”
Quite possibly my tone was one of dubiety. Either that or the question itself affected her in a fashion which surprised me. She stopped as suddenly as if the fountain of her tears had been worked by some automatic attachment. Raising herself slightly from the couch, she looked at me, her eyes swollen with weeping.
“Pollie? You ask me who is Pollie? And you’re her lawyer!”
“Her lawyer?—Pollie’s——? You’re not referring to Miss——? Of course, how stupid of me! I had forgotten that Miss Blyth’s Christian name was Mary. I suppose that by her friends she is known as Pollie. I hope that nothing has happened to Miss Blyth.”
“Do you think that I should be here if nothing had happened to Pollie?”
The question was put with an amount of vigour which, in one so fragile, was almost surprising. I was delighted to see in her such a renewal of vigour. It made me feel more at my ease.
“I am only too fortunate, Miss Purvis, whatever the object of your visit. If you will permit me I will get you a cup of tea; that’s what you’re wanting. I live so much alone I’m accustomed to do all sorts of things for myself. Here’s a gas stove; in five minutes the water will be boiling; you shall have your tea. It will do you an immensity of good.”
I had always understood that girls liked tea. But, as I moved about the room, preparing to set the kettle on the stove, she stared at me with an apparent want of comprehension.
“Do you suppose that I’ve come through the streets like this just to get a cup of tea?”