This epistle at once pleased and angered Polly.
Though a greedy she was not a mercenary young woman;
she had little cunning, and her vulgar ambitions were
consistent with a good deal of honest feeling.
To do her justice, she had never considered the possibility
that her father might have money to bequeath; his
disclosure surprised her, and caused her to reflect
for the first time that Chaffey’s head waiter
had long held a tolerably lucrative position, whilst
his expenses must have been trivial; so much the better
for her. On the other hand, she strongly resented
his suspicions and warnings. In the muddled obscurity
of Polly’s consciousness there was a something
which stood for womanly pride. She knew very well
what dangers perpetually surrounded her, and she contrasted
herself with the girls who weakly, or recklessly,
threw themselves away. Divided thus between injury
and gratitude she speedily answered her father’s
letter, writing upon a sheet of scented grass-green
note-paper, deeply ribbed, which made her pen blot,
splutter, and sprawl far more than it would have done
on a smooth surface.
“DEAR DAD,
“In reply to yours, what I have to say is, Aunt
Louisa and Mrs. Bubb are nasty cats, and I don’t
think them for making a bother. It is very kind
of you about your will, though I’m sure, if
you believe me, I don’t want not yet to see you
in your grave; and what I do think is, you might have
a better opinion of your daughter and not think all
the bad things you can turn your mind to. And
if it is me that dies first, you will be sorry for
the wrong you done me. So I will say no more,
dear dad.
“From your loving
“POLLY”
CHAPTER VII
POLLY’S WRATH
Polly posted her letter on the way to the theatre.
This evening she had a private engagement for ten
o’clock, and on setting forth to the appointed
place she looked carefully about her to make sure that
no one watched or followed her. Christopher Parish
was not the only young man who had a habit of standing
to wait for her at the theatre door. Upon him
she could lay her commands with some assurance that
they would be observed, but others were less submissive,
and at times had given her trouble. To be sure,
she could always get rid of importunate persons by
the use of her special gift, that primitive sarcasm
which few cared to face for more than a minute or two;
but with admirers Polly wished to be as far as possible
gracious, never coming to extremities with one of
them until she was quite certain that she thoroughly
disliked him. Finding the coast clear (which
after all slightly disappointed her) she walked sharply
into another street, where she hailed a passing hansom,
and was driven to Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
