POLLYANNA
The man winced a little at the tone of her voice; but his own voice was still impersonally cool when he spoke again.
"Yes. I wanted to adopt her—legally, you understand; making her my heir, of course."
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.
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