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.