"But, my beloved mother, you really can't expect such a sacrifice of me.
There isn't anything else in the world you could ask that I would not
agree to, but even you must see that this is out of the question."
It was several days later and Polly was in her small sitting room with
her mother and Sylvia.
"Besides it is absurd and wicked of Sylvia to have frightened you so and
I shan't forgive her, even if she has been good as gold to me all her
life. How can I give up my part and go away from New York just when I am
beginning to be a tiny bit successful?" Then, overcome with sympathy for
herself, Polly cast herself down in a heap upon a small sofa and with
her face buried in the sofa cushions burst into tears.
Mrs. Wharton walked nervously up and down the room.
"I know it is dreadfully hard for you, dear, and I do realize how much I
am asking, even if you don't think so, Polly," she replied. "Besides you
must not be angry with Sylvia. Of course I have not taken the child's
opinion alone, clever as she is. Two physicians have seen you in the
last few days, as you know, and they have both given me the same
opinion. You are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. If you will give
up now it may not be serious, but if you will insist upon going on with
your work no one will answer for the consequences. It is only a matter
of a few weeks, my dear. I have seen your manager and he is willing to
agree to your stopping as long as it is absolutely necessary. Perhaps
you may be well enough to start in again in the fall. Isn't it wiser to
stop now for a short rest than to have to give up altogether later on?"
she urged consolingly.
As there was no answer from Polly, Mrs. Wharton's own eyes also filled
with tears. At the same moment Sylvia came up to her step-mother and
patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. It was odd, but Sylvia rarely
expressed affection by kissing or the embraces common among most girls.
Yet in her somewhat shy caresses there was fully as deep feeling.
"Don't worry, mother, things will turn out all right," she now said
reassuringly. "Of course it is pretty hard on Polly. Even I appreciate
that. But it is silly of her to protest against the inevitable. She will
save herself a lot of strength if she only finds that out some day. But
I'll leave you together, since my being here only makes her more
obstinate than ever."
As Sylvia was crossing the floor a sofa cushion was thrown violently at
her from the apparently grief-stricken figure on the sofa. But while
Mrs. Wharton looked both grieved and shocked Sylvia only laughed. Was
there ever such another girl as her step-sister? Here she was at one
instant weeping bitterly at the wrecking of her career, as she thought,
and the next shying sofa cushions like a naughty child.
Once Sylvia was safely out of the way, Polly again sat upright on the
sofa, drawing her mother down beside her. It was just as well that
Sylvia had departed, for she was the one person in the world whom Polly
had never been able to influence, or turn from her own point of view, by
any amount of argument or persuasion. With her mother alone her task
would be easier. Nevertheless Mrs. Wharton appeared singularly
determined and Polly remembered that there had been occasions when her
mother's decision must be obeyed.
However, she was no longer a child, and although it would make her
extremely miserable to appear both obstinate and unloving, it might in
this single instance be absolutely necessary. How much had she not
already endured to gain this slight footing in her profession? Now to
turn her back on it in the midst of her first success, because a few
persons had made up their minds that she was ill,--well, any sensible or
reasonable human being must understand that it was quite out of the
question.
So the discussion continued between the woman and girl, the same
arguments being repeated over and over, the same pleading, and yet
without arriving at any sort of conclusion. There is no knowing how long
this might have kept up if there had not come a sudden knocking at the
door.
Opening it the boy outside handed Mrs. Wharton a card.
"It is Mr. Hunt who has come to see you, Polly; shall I say you are not
well? Or what shall I say? Of course it is out of the question for you
to see any stranger, child. You have been crying until your face is
swollen and your hair is in dreadful confusion," Mrs. Wharton protested
anxiously.
Polly unexpectedly scrambled to her feet. "Ask Mr. Hunt to wait a few
minutes, please, mother, and then we will telephone down and tell him to
come up. You see I had an engagement with him this afternoon and don't
like to refuse to see him. For once it is a good thing I have no
pretensions to beauty like Betty and Mollie. Moreover, mother, I am
obliged to confess to you that Mr. Hunt has seen me before, not only
after I had been weeping, but while I was engaged in the act. You know
he was about the only friend I saw all last winter, when I was so blue
and discouraged with life. Besides, I am sure he will understand my
point of view in this dreadful discussion we have just been having and
will help me to convince you."
Five minutes afterwards the celebrated Miss Polly O'Neill had restored
her hair and costume to some semblance of order, although her eyes were
still somewhat red and heavy, as well as her nose. Nevertheless she
greeted her visitor without particular embarrassment. Mrs. Wharton,
however, could not pull herself together so readily; so after a few
moments of conventional conversation she asked to be excused and went
away, leaving her daughter and guest alone.
Fifteen minutes passed, half an hour, finally an entire hour. All this
while Mrs. Wharton, remaining in her daughter's bedroom which adjoined
the sitting room, could hear the sound of two voices.
Of course Polly did the greater share of the talking, but now and then
Richard Hunt would speak for several moments at a time and afterwards
there would be odd intervals of silence.
Mrs. Wharton could not hear what was being said, and she scarcely wished
to return to the sitting room. She was still far too worried and
nervous, although, having an engagement that must be kept, she wished to
say good-by to Polly before leaving the hotel.
Richard Hunt rose immediately upon Mrs. Wharton's entrance.
"I am ever so sorry to have made such a long visit," he apologized at
once, "and I hope I have not interfered with you. Only Miss O'Neill and
I have been having a pretty serious and important talk and I did not
realize how much time had passed."
Polly's eyes had been fastened upon something in the far distance. Now
she glanced toward her guest.
"Oh, you need not apologize to mother for the length of your stay. When
she hears what we have been discussing she will be more than grateful to
you," Polly interrupted.
"You see, mother, Mr. Hunt does not agree with me, as I thought he
would. Who ever has agreed with me in this tiresome world? He also
thinks that I must stop acting at once and go away with you, if my
family and the doctors think it necessary. And he has frightened me
terribly with stories of people who have nervous breakdowns and never
recover. People who never remember the lines in their plays again or
what part they are expected to act. So I surrender, dear. I'll go away
with you as soon as things can be arranged wherever you wish to take
me." And Polly held up both her hands with an intended expression of
saintliness, which was not altogether successful.
"Bravo!" Richard Hunt exclaimed quietly.
Mrs. Wharton extended her hand.
"I am more grateful to you than I can express. You have saved us all
from a great deal of unhappiness and I believe you have saved Polly from
more than she understands," she added.
The girl took her mother's hand, touching it lightly with her lips.
"Please don't tell Mr. Hunt what my family think of my obstinacy," she
pleaded. "Because if you do, he will either have no respect for me or
else will have too much for himself because I gave in to him," she said
saucily.
Yet it was probably ten minutes after Mr. Hunt's departure before it
occurred to Mrs. Wharton to be surprised over Polly's unexpected
surrender to a comparative stranger, when she had refused to be
influenced by any member of her own family.
But now the question of chief importance was where should Polly go for
her much needed rest? It was her own decision finally that rather than
any other place in the world she preferred to return to Woodford to
spend the summer months in the old cabin near Sunrise Hill.