“Will Polly be content to live with me?”

“Not always ; but till papa comes home. Papa is gone away.” She shook her head expressively.

“He will return to Polly, or send for her.”

“Will he, ma’am? Do you know he will?”

“I think so.”

“But Harriet thinks not: at least not for a long while. He is ill.”

Her eyes filled. She drew her hand from Mrs. Bretton’s and made a movement to leave her lap; it was at first resisted, but she said⁠—

“Please, I wish to go: I can sit on a stool.”