there ever
been any one who has cared for you and whom you may some day care for?"

For the moment the unexpectedness of this question took Polly's breath.
And then to her deep chagrin she felt herself blushing, even while
vigorously shaking her head in denial.

And yet at the same time in her intense desire to be perfectly
straightforward with her new friend she was wondering if her denial had
been entirely truthful. Or was it her duty to confess Billy Webster's
stupidity?

"There was some one once," she murmured after her little period of
hesitation had passed. "But really, Margaret, he did not care for me a
bit; he only wanted to manage me. And I--I didn't care for him in the
least. I never shall care for anybody," Polly insisted with the absolute
conviction of youth.

Then completely forgetting everybody and everything else, Polly O'Neill
put both arms about her slender knees and there on the grass at the feet
of the great Miss Adams began slowly swaying herself backwards and
forwards as she always had ever since she was a little girl when in the
thrall of some dominant idea.

She did not look at Miss Adams; she did not even look at the hills or
trees, nor feel the summer darkness that was beginning to close about
them like a soft cloak. For Polly was having one of her moments when the
things inside her mind were so much more visible and important to her
than any outside scene. Never since leaving New York had she mentioned
to Miss Adams her own desire to go upon the stage. It had not seemed
fair to take advantage of her friend's kindness by annoying her with her
own ambition. For it might look as though she expected or hoped for aid
and advice from Miss Adams' friendship. But tonight Polly had forgotten
her past resolutions and reserves.

"I shall not care for anyone, Margaret, because you know in another year
I intend either going upon the stage in some little part, or if mother
will give me the money, I shall go to a dramatic school. For I am going
to make the stage my career whether I succeed or fail." There was a
catch in the girl's breath and although it was too dark to see her face,
the older woman could imagine the glow in her cheeks and the light in
her curious blue eyes. She looked like an elf or a sprite, something
born of the woods or the sky and hardly an ordinary flesh-and-blood
girl, as she sat in her curious position, dreamily rocking herself back
and forth in the evening dusk and silence.