CHAPTER VII.
"WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS." The trip from Berkeley to San Francisco was a brilliant success from Edgar's standpoint, but Polly would have told you that she never worked harder in her life.
"I 'll just say 'How do you do ?' to your mother, and then be off," said Edgar, as they neared the house.
"Oh, but you surely will stay to dinner with us!" said Polly, with the most innocent look of disappointment on her face,--a look of such obvious grief that a person of any feeling could hardly help wishing to remove it, if possible.

"You see, Edgar" (putting the latch-key in the door), "mamma is so languid and ill that she cannot indulge in many pleasures, and I had quite counted on you to amuse her a little for me this evening.

But come up, and you shall do as you like after dinner." "I 've brought you a charming surprise, mamacita!" called Polly from the stairs: "an old friend whom I picked up in the woods like a wild-flower and brought home to you." ("Wild-flower is a good name for him," she thought.) Mrs.Oliver was delighted to see Edgar, but after the first greetings were over, Polly fancied that she had not closed the front door, and Edgar offered to go down and make sure.
In a second Polly crossed the room to her mother's side, and whispered impressively, "Edgar _must_ be kept here until after midnight; I have good reasons that I will explain when we are alone.

Keep him somehow,--anyhow!" Mrs.Oliver had not lived sixteen years with Polly without learning to leap to conclusions.

"Run down and ask Mrs.Howe if she will let us have her hall-bedroom tonight," she replied; "nod your head for yes when you come back, and I 'll act accordingly; I have a request to make of Edgar, and am glad to have so early an opportunity of talking with him." "We did close the door, after all," said Edgar, coming in again.