"My dear child!" cried Polly, in sudden compunction. "Of course not! I didn’t mean to offend you in any way. I’ve nothing against you personally; it’s simply that I don’t want a companion at all. I--I can’t endure the idea of a person who is paid to amuse me--a stranger, who doesn’t know anything about me or the child I lost!" She waited a moment, then she went on. "I’m very sorry. It’s an awkward situation for both of us. Mrs. Russell has done it before. You see, the doctor said I was not to be left alone--all nonsense, but Mr. Eddie took it very much to heart, and he wants Mrs. Russell to stay with me. Naturally she finds it irksome, shut up in the house. If I can’t have a familiar face, then I’d rather be alone. I’m sorry, but it’s no use your wasting your time, my dear. You might be looking for something else." She held out her hand with a kindly smile. "Good-by!" she said. Angelica didn’t move. "I saw that Mr. Eddie," she said; "and he said he was going to speak to you about me. He said he’d keep me if you would." "But what has he got to do with it?" asked Polly, smiling. "Well, at first he thought I wouldn’t do; and then, after he thought it over, he said: ‘Well, I’ll agree if _she_ will.’" Polly was silent, perplexed to know how to get rid of this tenacious young creature. Angelica seized the opportunity. "Well," she said, "I’m sorry I came, bothering you; but as long as I’m here, hadn’t I better stay till she gets home again? I’m better than nobody!" III It was the longest day Angelica had ever spent. She didn’t go out of the room; even lunch was brought to them there. She sat, answering whenever she was spoken to, but for the most part silent, looking out of the window at the country landscape, which held nothing to interest her gamine eye, and watching the clock. She couldn’t believe that something wouldn’t happen. She tried, in her very crude way, to study Polly, but she had no success. She watched her lying for long stretches of time with her eyes closed, whether asleep or awake it was impossible to divine. Her face in repose was profoundly mournful, and, unrelieved by the fine black eyes, looked older and more worn. Her mouth had a kindly line, but it was the disillusioned, cynical kindness of one who expects no gratitude. "I suppose she’s Mr. Eddie’s wife," reflected Angelica. "Well, she’s certainly a lot older than he is--ten years, I’d say. I wonder why they call her Mrs. Geraldine, when her name’s Polly!" This detail puzzled her greatly. She fancied it must be some custom of rich people. Perhaps Polly was a nickname for Geraldine among them. It didn’t occur to her that it was a surname; she took it for granted that Polly was young Mrs. Russell. Little by little, as always, her thoughts drifted off to her own future.