She governed her house cunningly and firmly, knew when to give credit, when to be stern and when to let things pass. All the resident young men spoke of her as The Madam.
At last she heard her mother calling. She started to her feet and ran to the banisters.
“Polly! Polly!”
“Yes, mamma?”
“Come down, dear. Mr Doran wants to speak to you.”
Then she remembered what she had been waiting for.
She was sure she would win. To begin with she had all the weight of social opinion on her side: she was an outraged mother. She had allowed him to live beneath her roof, assuming that he was a man of honour, and he had simply abused her hospitality.