Part 17 (1/2)

”It's a prospect we needn't consider,” said the duke haughtily.

”We never know what we may come to,” said Pollyooly with a happy remembrance of the pious wisdom of her Aunt Hannah. ”But Millie isn't going into the workhouse anyhow. I'm not going to let her. But she ought to go to a home and be trained to marry an empire-builder. She's that kind of orphan: Mr. Ruf--a gentleman says that she is. And I came to ask you if you'd give her a nomination so that she could go into the Bellingham Home. They'll do anything you tell them there; and if you said so, they'd take her in at once. And she'd be ever so much obliged to you. She'd never forget it--never. And so should I.”

She was leaning forward with clasped hands and s.h.i.+ning, imploring eyes.

The duke was not insensible to the charm of her beauty, or to the appeal of her pleading voice. He was even more sensible to the tribute she had paid to his power in the matter of the Bellingham Home. But he was in a captious mood; and he did not wish to oblige her. His mind was chiefly full of the fact that he had made himself look foolish by kidnapping her and had had to pay her six pounds compensation. He was still sore about the foolishness and also about the money, for his was a thrifty soul.

But Pollyooly's angel face made a direct refusal difficult. He coughed and said:

”I--er--don't--er--do things in this--er--irregular way.

My--er--nominations are--er--only given after I have been approached in the proper way and received testimonials and--er--sifted them out so as to nominate the most deserving orphan among the many applicants for admission.”

”There couldn't be a more deserving orphan than Millie,” said Pollyooly quickly.

”That remains to be proved. There are often fifty or sixty applicants.

And besides, this isn't the time of year when vacancies in the home are filled up,” said the duke, hardening himself in his resistance, now that he could throw the odium of it on to the machinery of the home.

Pollyooly's face had fallen, for her instinct told her that he did not intend to grant her pet.i.tion, and was only making excuses. She said slowly:

”But that wouldn't matter, because if you told them to take in Millie at any time of the year they'd do it.”

”But the applications have to be written, setting forth the applicant's claims in the proper way,” said the duke, falling yet more firmly back behind the safe barrier of red tape. ”The matter has to receive careful consideration.”

Pollyooly frowned thoughtfully: ”Well, I could write. There are people who would tell me what to write,” she said in the sad tone of one confronted with an uncongenial task. ”Then you could consider Millie carefully. I'm sure you couldn't find an orphan who's more--more of an orphan than Millie.”

”I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use--not at this time of year,” said the duke almost cheerfully, as he saw that in an irreproachable fas.h.i.+on he was getting his own disobliging way.

Pollyooly filled with the bitter sense of defeat. She heaved a deep sigh and was on the point of rising to go, when the last adjuration of the Honourable John Ruffin flashed into her mind, and on the instant she grew eager to try the new weapon he had suggested. She looked at the duke with a calculating eye. Nature, thinking probably that if was enough for a man to be a duke, had not been lavish of beauty to him: his somewhat small features were often set in an unamiable expression, and with the faint light of evil satisfaction at baulking Pollyooly now on them, they looked more unamiable than usual. He did not indeed seem to be a man to be easily softened. But the matter was far too important for her to lose the only chance left.

Very deliberately she drew her handkerchief from her pocket, blinked her eyes hard to make them water, hid them under the handkerchief, sniffed once but loudly, and then sobbed.

”It's very--hard--on Millie--she'll be--dreadfully--disappointed!”

A sudden consternation smote the duke. He had looked to make himself completely disagreeable at his ease, certainly without any such a.s.sault on his feelings as this. He shuffled his feet and said hurriedly:

”It's no good crying about it. It can't be helped, you know.”

Pollyooly's quick ear caught the change in his tone. She sobbed more loudly:

”Oh, yes--it can--you could do it--if you wanted to!”

”These things have to be done in the proper way,” protested the duke.

”It isn't that. You--you--don't like Millie!” sobbed Pollyooly, watching the weakening face of the perturbed n.o.bleman with an intent eye over the top of her handkerchief. ”You--you--hate her!”

”Why, I've never set eyes on her!” cried the duke.

”Oh, yes: you do--and it's--it's beastly,” sobbed Pollyooly.