ated. "It is hardly
worth while doing it now. Because honestly I have not made up my mind
just how to answer the question that you asked me a few minutes ago.
Whether at the end of another year, when you have agreed to let me do as
I like, I shall still insist upon going upon the stage, knowing that you
and Mollie are at heart unwilling to have me, I can't tell. Perhaps I
shall give up and stay on here at Woodford and maybe marry some one I
don't care about and then be sorry ever afterwards."

Instead of replying Mrs. Wharton got up and walked several times
backwards and forwards across the length of the room, not glancing
toward the girl who still sat before the fire with her hands clasped
tightly over her knees. But Polly had small doubt where her mother's
thoughts were. And a few moments afterwards she too rose and the next
instant pulled her mother down on a cushion before the fire, and resting
close beside her put her head on her shoulder.

"Dear, you were mistaken when you came in and found me awake," Polly
explained, "in supposing that I was thinking of my own disappointment in
not being allowed to make the journey with Miss Adams or feeling hurt or
angry with you because you decided against it. Really, I never dreamed
in the first place that you would be willing. Still, I was thinking of
asking you to let me break my word to you after all! You said that I was
to stay here in Woodford for three years, and yet I want you to let me
go away somewhere very soon. I don't care where, any place will do."

Now for the first time since the beginning of their conversation Mrs.
Wharton appeared mystified and deeply hurt.

"Is your own home so disagreeable to you, Polly, that you would rather
go anywhere than stay with us?" she queried. And then to her further
surprise, turning she discovered that tears were standing unshed in
Polly's eyes and that her lips were trembling.

"I don't know how to tell you, mother. It is all so mixed up and so
uncertain in my own mind and so foolish. But I wonder if you have ever
thought that Mollie liked Billy Webster better than our other friends?"

"Mollie?" Mrs. Wharton could hardly summon her thoughts back from the
subject which had lately absorbed them, to follow what she believed a
quickly changing idea of Polly's. "Why, yes, I think I have," she
answered slowly. "But I have never let the supposition trouble me.
Mollie is so young and her deepest affections are for you and me.
Besi