The woman in the opposite chair relaxed a little.  It came to her, suddenly, what a brilliant future it would have meant for Pollyanna—­this adoption; and she wondered if Pollyanna were old enough and mercenary enough—­to be tempted by this man’s money and position.

“I am very fond of Pollyanna,” the man was continuing.  “I am fond of her both for her own sake, and for—­her mother’s.  I stood ready to give Pollyanna the love that had been twenty-five years in storage.”

“Love.”  Miss Polly remembered suddenly why she had taken this child in the first place—­and with the recollection came the remembrance of Pollyanna’s own words uttered that very morning:  “I love to be called ‘dear’ by folks that belong to you!” And it was this love-hungry little girl that had been offered the stored-up affection of twenty-five years:—­and she was old enough to be tempted by love!  With a sinking heart Miss Polly realized that.  With a sinking heart, too, she realized something else:  the dreariness of her own future now without Pollyanna.

“Well?” she said.  And the man, recognizing the self-control that vibrated through the harshness of the tone, smiled sadly.

“She would not come,” he answered.

“Why?”

“She would not leave you.  She said you had been so good to her.  She wanted to stay with you—­and she said she thought you wanted her to stay,” he finished, as he pulled himself to his feet.

He did not look toward Miss Polly.  He turned his face resolutely toward the door.  But instantly he heard a swift step at his side, and found a shaking hand thrust toward him.

“When the specialist comes, and I know anything—­definite about Pollyanna, I will let you hear from me,” said a trembling voice.  “Good-by—­and thank you for coming.  Pollyanna will be pleased.”

CHAPTER XXV.  A WAITING GAME

On the day after John Pendleton’s call at the Harrington homestead, Miss Polly set herself to the task of preparing Pollyanna for the visit of the specialist.

“Pollyanna, my dear,” she began gently, “we have decided that we want another doctor besides Dr. Warren to see you.  Another one might tell us something new to do—­to help you get well faster, you know.”

A joyous light came to Pollyanna’s face.

“Dr. Chilton!  Oh, Aunt Polly, I’d so love to have Dr. Chilton!  I’ve wanted him all the time, but I was afraid you didn’t, on account of his seeing you in the sun parlor that day, you know; so I didn’t like to say anything.  But I’m so glad you do want him!”

Aunt Polly’s face had turned white, then red, then back to white again.  But when she answered, she showed very plainly that she was trying to speak lightly and cheerfully.

“Oh, no, dear!  It wasn’t Dr. Chilton at all that I meant.  It is a new doctor—­a very famous doctor from New York, who—­who knows a great deal about—­about hurts like yours.”