"For how long?" she asked. "You don’t think you’re really seriously ill, do you? You think a little rest at home will set you up in a very short time?" Angelica hesitated a moment. "I don’t think----” she began. "I don’t guess I’ll come back." "Never?" "No." "But aren’t you happy here? Aren’t you comfortable? Tell me what’s wrong, and perhaps we can arrange it." "You couldn’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay--not for anything." There was no mistaking Angelica’s tone. Polly saw that the girl was absolutely determined and not to be turned--not without a long argument, anyway, and that she had no desire to undertake. What is more, she had too much sense to ask questions. She had a suspicion that her husband was somehow concerned in Angelica’s going; there was probably a great deal in this thing of which she decidedly preferred to remain ignorant. She wasn’t jealous; that had worn off on that first evening of Vincent’s home-coming. It had hurt her dreadfully, then, to see his glance turn always away from her and toward this younger and lovelier face; but now she didn’t care whether he was infatuated with Angelica or any one else. She was pleased simply to be on friendly terms with him, to have him agreeable instead of contemptuous, and she knew that was the best she could expect. She had not the slightest hope of winning him back; she didn’t even want to very much. She was so tired; she dreaded the necessity which love brings for effort--for keeping up, in appearances, in spirits. She preferred that Vincent should never look at her at all, rather than to have to endure his old critical glance. She was only too conscious of her sad decline. So there was nothing in her heart but real regret that Angelica was going. She liked her very much, and was used to her. "I’m very sorry to lose you," she said. "I’d hoped you were quite settled here. I’ll miss you more than I can say." "You’ve been very nice to me," said Angelica. "And you must always remember me as a friend. If there is ever anything that I can do for you, come to me. I mean it!" She held out her hand, and Angelica gripped it. "Good-by!" said Polly again. "And good luck! I hope you’ll let me know how you get on." "Yes, I will. But listen, Mrs. Geraldine--can I have my money?" "Certainly! You’ll have to get it from Mr. Geraldine, though. He’s in the library, writing." Angelica was dismayed. "No," she faltered. "I don’t want to bother him. If you’ll just give me my train fare, you could send me the rest." "My dear, I don’t think I have even enough for your fare. Mr. Geraldine handles all my money for me." She was a little ashamed of this arrangement, to which she had eagerly agreed when she and Vincent were first married. It humiliated her to be thus, without a penny. "You needn’t mind disturbing him," she said. "He expects to do such things for me. Come up and say good-by to me the last thing before you go, won’t you?"