"Your sister will certainly fit better
into the conditions of English life."
Polly cried at the parting, which might be final; then blew her nose and
dried her eyes; for she had a busy day before her. Tilly Beamish had
been waiting with ill-concealed impatience for Zara to vacate the spare
room, and was to arrive that night.
Mahony was not at home to welcome the new-comer, nor could he be present
at high tea. When he returned, towards nine o'clock, he found Polly with
a very red face, and so full of fussy cares for her guest's comfort--
her natural kindliness distorted to caricature--that she had not a word
for him. One look at Miss Tilly explained everything, and his respects
duly paid he retired to the surgery, to indulge a smile at Polly's
expense. Here Polly soon joined him, Tilly, fatigued by her journey and
by her bounteous meal, having betaken herself early to bed.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mahony, not without a certain mischievous satisfaction
at his young wife's discomfiture. "And with the prospect of a second
edition to follow!"
But Polly would not capitulate right off. "I don't think it's very kind
of you to talk like that, Richard," she said warmly. "People can't help
their looks." She moved about the room putting things straight, and
avoiding his eye. "As long as they mean well and are good. . . . But I
think you would rather no one ever came to stay with us, at all."
Fixing her with meaning insistence and still smiling, Mahony opened his
arms.
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