WHEN POLLY WAS EIGHTEEN

WHEN POLLY WAS
EIGHTEEN

BY
EMMA C. DOWD

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1921

COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY EMMA C. DOWD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

TO MY FRIEND
JULIA DARLING PECK
IN HAPPY MEMORY OF
SHELBURNE SUMMERS

CONTENTS

WHEN POLLY WAS EIGHTEEN

WHEN POLLY WAS EIGHTEEN

. .
.

CHAPTER I
“WHY DON’T YOU LAUGH?”

POLLY leaned back against the great oak, her eyes bent on David’s face. She wondered—and wondered hard. If she could only fathom that inscrutable expression!

The young man, stretched on the grass among the waving shadows, was gazing across the valley to the hills in their soft afternoon veiling. It was a June picture beautiful enough to hold the attention of any one, yet it was plain that David’s thoughts were not on the landscape.

They had come out for a walk, which had led them miles to the south and finally to the top of Chimney Hill, where they had stopped to rest.

At the start David had been talkative enough, in fact unusually merry; then, from no discernible cause, his lips had shut gravely and Polly had not been able to draw out more than monosyllables and short, matter-of-fact sentences. As she watched the unreadable face she tried to guess what the trouble might be. As in the old days before college, her lover had his occasional jealous moods, and although they were less frequent they grew more and more bitter. Still, during the happy intervals Polly would coax herself to believe that they were past forever. Now she thought over the route, bit by bit, trying to find something which could have disturbed him. At last, baffled in her endeavors, she ventured suddenly:—

“David, why don’t you laugh?”

He turned instantly. “At what?”

“Anything—nothing,” she answered lightly. “You seemed to be weighing some heavy matter.”

“No, I was only—” He halted, then went on without completing his sentence. “I am going away to-morrow,” he announced.

Polly’s smile vanished in surprise.

“Where?” she asked with her usual eagerness. “Spitzbergen or the South Pole?”

David did not appear to notice her pleasantry.

“To the Adirondacks,” he said simply.

“Oh!” Polly exclaimed. “Were you just making up your mind?”

David reddened. “N-no,” he denied; “but Converse invited me only a day or two ago, and I didn’t decide at once.”

“Going with Child Converse?” queried Polly’s lips, while her thoughts ran along, “Why didn’t he tell me sooner? We were together all yesterday morning and this afternoon—never a word until now!”

“Yes,” David was saying, “he is going to take me up to their camp. His father and mother are in Seattle, you know.”

“M-h’m,” she bowed. “How long you going to stay?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t set any time.”

“It’ll be great, won’t it?” Polly smiled in her friendliest way.

He nodded gravely, slipping abruptly into complaint.

“You do not like Converse. You have never taken the trouble to know him.”

The girl’s eyes twinkled. “I certainly ought to adore him,” she said; “it is the first time you ever wanted me to look at any boy except Your Royal Highness.”

“Oh, you don’t understand!” sighed David.

“I am always wondering,” Polly went on, a tiny scowl wrinkling her smooth forehead, “how it is that Converse happens to attract you.”

“He is a good fellow,” said David positively. “But he has no stock of prittle-prattle.”

“It isn’t his lack of nonsense,” Polly smiled. “He is too pretty. That combined with his name—but he can’t help either, poor boy! Anyway, he looks like a nice baby—”

“Baby!” sniffed David.

“Well, he does. With his round face and rosy cheeks and curly hair—honestly, I always want to take him on my knee and trot him.”

David laughed, though as if against his will.

“There’s nothing of the baby about him,” he asserted, “and a fellow can’t help his looks.”

Polly shook her head. “No,” she agreed. “If only he and his sister could exchange faces! Maybe, after all, it is she that flavors my opinion of him.”

“Marietta?”

“Yes.” She was making little jabs in the soft moss with her slender forefinger, and a faint smile began to curve her lips.

“She is a brainy girl,” was the somewhat stiff response, “and she has always been very pleasant to me.”

“She is brainy enough,” replied Polly; “the trouble is, she knows it and she shows that she knows it.”

“If she did not know it, there would be nothing to know,” said David severely.

Polly’s smile broadened. “I was thinking,” she resumed, “of what Patricia said the other day. Marietta has just been elected president of the Much Ado Club in place of Ruth Mansfield. You know the Mansfields are going to live in California. Ruth has grown pretty stout, and Marietta looks as if she would blow away. Somebody was wondering if she could fill Ruth’s place, and Patricia said very soberly, ‘I think she’ll wabble about a little.’ Wasn’t that bright?”

“Unkind,” he answered forbiddingly.

“Oh, David!” she sighed, “you are so matter-of-fact. You don’t like Patty any better than ever.”

“There is not much of her to like,” he said quietly.

“David Collins!”

“It is true.”

“Every one but you thinks she is lovely,” asserted Polly.

“Probably they don’t require depth.”

“Patricia isn’t shallow,” she retorted.

“It appears so to an outsider. Look at her and her gang!”

“Gang!—David!”

He gave a short laugh.

“The truth is, Polly, seeing we are talking plainly, I don’t like the girls with whom you are so popular—the girls that have made you their queen. They—”

“Queen! What are you talking about, David?” Polly broke in without ceremony. Her voice was scornful.

“Yes, queen,” reiterated the young man. “Only they rule you, not you them.”

“You don’t like it because I said yesterday I hadn’t time to have a flower garden,” accused Polly.

“No,” denied David, “I was thinking of something else. You have too many clubs on your hands.”

“They don’t amount to much in the way of time,” returned Polly.

“They must be a great bore.”

“No; they keep me out of a rut, put me in touch with everything.”

“H’m!” scorned David. “I am glad I don’t need a posse of chattering girls to keep me up to date. Not a single club for me in vacation! Cut them out, Polly, every one! Why not?”

The girl laughed. “What a queer fellow you are! I’ll write to you every day if you wish,” she added with seeming irrelevance, remembering a certain request when they had separated at the beginning of the last college year.

David brightened perceptibly—until a sparkle of fun in her brown eyes swiftly altered his expression.

“Yes, you will have as much as three minutes a day to give to me, won’t you!” he flashed, a tinge of bitterness in his tone.

“No, truly, David, I am in earnest,” smiled Polly. “My clubs don’t take up nearly as much of my time as you think. If you would join some of them—the College, for instance—you would change your mind. You stand outside and criticize; you don’t get the right viewpoint. Try it, David! You won’t be sorry. I’ll propose your name at the next meeting.”

“No, you will not!” was the prompt reply. “Nice time to join, while I am off in an Adirondack camp.”

“Oh, well, you are not going to stay all summer, are you?”

“I may.”

Polly looked straight into the blue eyes opposite. “Do you mean it?”

He bowed gravely. “It is more than possible.” He pulled out his watch. “Time we were on the march,” he said, springing to his feet.

The walk home was like many another walk. Polly tried to make talk, with poor results. There were long silences, while she, watching her companion’s face, longed with all her heart to read what was being written behind those unreadable eyes. She felt a relief when the hospital was sighted.

“You’ll be up in the morning, shan’t you?” she asked.

“I think there will not be time,” David answered quietly. “Converse wishes to make an early start. I would better say good-bye now.” He took her hand in his strong grasp, held it a moment as if words were not ready, then said calmly, “I hope you will have a pleasant summer.”

“Just as if I were some ordinary acquaintance he had met on the street,” Polly told herself in the seclusion of her own room. “What does ail him!”

CHAPTER II
THE LETTER

THE City Hall clock struck twelve, and Polly Dudley was still awake. The circumstances of the afternoon were passing before her. What David had said and what she had said, when he had laughed and when he had been silent, what they had seen on the way—it was all there in the procession that had no end. Just now they were at the corner of Webster Street, where it joined Clayton Avenue. An Italian boy with a push-cart was on the cross-walk, and Polly and David waited to let him pass. A young man was coming towards them, a handsome young man in a shining car. Now he was lifting his hat with his usual splendid smile, the smile that showed his gleaming, perfect teeth—

“Oh!” Polly breathed suddenly, “that was it! Now I know! How could he be so silly! But it was! It is always some such little thing.”

At last she had discovered the direct cause of her lover’s changed mood. She remembered how brilliantly Russell Ely had smiled to her as he passed, and then until this moment she had forgotten him altogether. Didn’t David want her even to bow to any one! But Russell was a member of the College Club! This explained everything. It seemed hours before sleep came to halt the wearying thoughts.

Polly was called from breakfast to greet David.

“We are not going to start as early as I expected,” he said, “not before nine. So I thought I would—just run up and say good-morning.” He smiled in almost his own cordial way.

The girl beamed up at him. She never harbored a pique, and now she began to chat as gayly as usual, in seeming forgetfulness of yesterday.

David, however, could not so lightly throw off the past. Recollections lingered to hamper his actions and retard his tongue. But he let his eyes rest upon Polly in gratification, laughing at her little pleasantries, and finally enjoying the present quite as if nothing in past or future could have any evil power for him. The parting was vastly different from that of the day before.

After he had gone Polly ran upstairs humming a song. How glad she was that he had come!

The days seemed long without David. Since they returned from college they had been much together, and now she missed him. The Randolphs were away, and Patricia and the rest could not quite fill the gap. The ladies of June Holiday Home always welcomed her with delight, and she called there occasionally; but their increased freedom of action carried them out-of-doors more than formerly, and she was apt not to find those at home whom she most wished to see. Then, too, the place had never seemed just the same since her beloved “Nita” had left it forever.

She was returning, one afternoon, from a shopping excursion with Leonora, when she was overtaken by Russell Ely. He drove up to the curb, and threw open the door of his car.

“Will you ride up the hill?” he asked.

In a moment she was whirling along the shady avenue, arranging her bundles comfortably in her lap and listening to her companion’s bright talk.

“This is a pleasant lift for me,” she said. “I have been round in the shops ever since luncheon, and I am tired.”

“I shouldn’t have dared to ask you if that guardsman of yours were in town; but since the length of New England is between us I thought I might venture.”

Polly laughed, and they talked on and on, until she noticed that they had not turned at the corner nearest home.

“You don’t mind going a little farther, do you?” he asked. “I seldom get a glimpse of you nowadays. What do you say to running up to Castleboro Inn for some toast and tea? The air is just right for a drive.”

But Polly refused, although the invitation became urgent; so the young man reluctantly left her at the hospital entrance.

“What would David say?” raced through her head and would not stop. “What would David say? What would David say?”

“He won’t know it!” Polly retorted. “And it’s all right if he should.”

“What would David say? What would David say?”

Polly went indoors and made herself ready for dinner.

“What would David say? What would David say?” accompanied her upstairs and down, and even to the dining-room door. Once at the table in the presence of her father and mother, the teasing voice vanished. Yet it returned the minute she was alone, and kept up the vexing question until it was finally lost in sleep.

Every morning came a letter from David, and Polly was invariably at the door to take it from the carrier. Sometimes it was little more than a note; but oftener it spread itself over page after page in familiar, affectionate talk.

Two days after Russell Ely had brought her up the hill, an envelope with David’s well-known superscription was put into Polly’s hand. At first it seemed no more than the envelope itself, so thin it was. Then Polly saw that a single sheet was inside.

“Guess he was in a hurry,” she told herself, as she hastened up to her room.

She sat down by the broad window and noted the slight unevenness of the address. David’s chirography was a continual wonder to Polly, every line, every curve, according to rule. To-day, however, the “P” was a wee bit out of proportion, the “D” was slightly out of alignment, while the name showed a trifling tendency to run downhill.

“Well!” she exclaimed under her breath, “what’s going to happen?” She dwelt upon it with a smile. Then she took up her paper-cutter and ran it under the flap.

Her fingers were growing eager, and with a happy flutter of heart she pulled out the sheet.

As she started to read, her face held a smile, but instantly a stare swept it away. Her eyes seemed to pierce the paper. They blazed with something like anger.

“‘Appeal’!” she muttered scornfully, “‘appeal,’ indeed!”

The letter fluttered to the floor, her hands went up to her face, and she began to cry.

“Oh, David! David!” she whispered, “how could you! It isn’t true! You know it isn’t true!”

She sat there a long time. Then she picked up the sheet and read it again. Her face grew hard and resentful.

“‘Smile of understanding’! He won’t want me to smile at all pretty soon.” She sighed. “By next week he’ll be ‘appealing’ to me. He’ll be sure to come back, if I keep still. He always does. I know David! I’ve half a mind not to answer him when he does ‘appeal.’ Let him have a taste of his own porridge.”

She went over the letter again, slowly, sentence by sentence.

Miss Polly: Since it is plainly evident that you desire your freedom from the slender bonds that bind us together, I wish to assure you that from this moment they are broken, and you are free as if they had never been. To continue the relations which have existed between us for the few years past would only pile up wretchedness for us both, and it is best to annul them. Many times I have foreseen this. On the day we took that walk to Chimney Hill and I noted the smile of understanding which passed between you and that darned Ely, I knew that sooner or later this would come. Yesterday when I heard of your intimacy with the same unbearable puppy, your rides alone with him as soon as I was out of the way, convinced me that the time for the break has arrived. You need not attempt any explanation or appeal. My mind is made up forever. Nothing can change my decision.

Very truly yours

David Gresham Collins

“‘Slender bonds’!” she muttered. “I didn’t know that I was bound at all, though I act as if I were. Of course, I’m ‘free,’ and I will be free, too, David Collins! As if you must tell me so! I wish I’d gone over to the Inn with Russell—I will next time he asks me. I won’t be under David’s thumb any longer! To think of his making such a fuss because I rode up with Russell—just rode up the hill with him!

“But how did he hear of my being with him?” Polly questioned. “We didn’t meet anybody—yes, Doris Gaylord was out on the veranda. She may have seen me. I didn’t think so. Anything she knew, Marietta’d know—that is sure. And by this time Marietta may be up there herself.”

She pondered the matter for some minutes, while alternately her face flushed and paled.

“Could Marietta—?” She shut her lips with a contemptuous little breath. “Let her!” she scorned. “I won’t follow David Collins’s lead.”

CHAPTER III
DAVID MAKES A REQUEST

THE next morning Polly was at the door as usual when the letter-carrier came. She could not have told why. Certainly she did not expect a letter.

Mechanically she received the bunch of mail, mechanically she threw off the envelopes and papers, one by one, on the hall table. Then she stared. There was the familiar handwriting! The rest of the lot was dropped in an unsorted pile, and upstairs she sped with the letter from David. She locked her door and flew to the window-seat. This time she did not pause to note the lines of the superscription. She tore open the envelope with eager fingers.

My darling Polly: I suppose before this you have received that horrible letter that I wrote you when I was grass-green with jealousy. Throw it in the fire right now! Don’t, don’t ever read it again! I was an outrageous cad to write it, anyhow. But when Marietta and Doris came up here with that story, I was just beside myself. I dare say Doris put in plenty of touches of her own. Do write that you are not angry with me! Write the very next mail! It is unbelievable that I could send you such a thing—

Just my luck! The mail-boy is here, and not another chance to send to the office to-day! A longer letter to-morrow.

Always your own David

Polly read it over with a smile. Again, and the smile changed to a sigh. Once more, and sorrow came into her eyes.

How like David! Mad with jealousy one day, and wild with penitence the next! Why must it be so? Why couldn’t he trust her?

She drew a chair to her desk and made ready to write. Then she took out the letter of yesterday and looked it over; she read again the one just received; finally she dipped her pen in ink.

She wrote fast until she had filled a sheet. Pausing to read it through, she crushed it in her hand, tossed it into the waste-basket, and began another.

That went the way of the first, and a third was written. This appeared to bring more satisfaction, for she read it a second time.

Dear David: Your two letters have made me take a long look ahead, and in view of what I see there I have come to a decision. There is no use in our going on as we have been going for four or five years. I cannot bear it. I must live my life in my own way—I must be free, I must be myself.

You would put me in fetters of your own making. Instead of trusting me out in the world, you would keep me away from the world. In fact, you would make me a prim, silent, cold somebody else, whom in time you would cease to love because I should not be worth loving.

You do not trust me, no matter what I say. You know that I care for you more than for anybody else. Many times I have told you so; still, reiteration does no good, for you will not believe. I see no way but for us to give up our plans for a future together. Even friends must trust each other, and marriage without confidence means unhappiness for two.

Forever your friend

Polly May Dudley

As Polly expected, David resented the high stand she had taken, and his prompt answer consisted of alternate phrases of reproach and apology. His second letter, however, was milder in tone, gracefully acknowledging his mistakes, and agreeing, if she would give him one more chance, never again to cause her grief by any behavior such as he had been guilty of in the past.

After long debates between head and heart, the latter won the fight, and Polly wrote a letter which made David go gayly for a week.

Patricia’s father planned for her a birthday fête, ending with a dance, at the Illingworth Cottage at Samoosic Point, some seven miles from Fair Harbor. Invitations were sent out three days in advance, and Polly looked forward to a pleasant outing.

On the evening before the birthday she went over to see Lilith Brooks. Some arrangements were to be made for the next morning. She found her friend ready for a walk, and the two girls strolled off in the direction of green fields and fewer dwellings.

A car whizzed by, a roadster with yellow wheels. For months afterwards a yellow-wheeled roadster gave Polly a start.

“Wh-why!” gasped Lilith, “that looks just like David!”

“It is,” said Polly quietly.

“I didn’t know he was here.” Lilith’s voice still held its astonishment.

“It is news to me,” laughed Polly; but the laugh did not sound true.

“Who was the girl? Could you tell?”

“I think it was Marietta Converse.”

“It is queer,” Lilith went on, glancing sidewise at her companion. “Do you suppose Marietta rode down from Camp Converse with him?”

Polly’s heart was repeating the same question. Then things began to right themselves. If both Marietta and David had errands in town it was only natural that they should come together.

When Polly returned home she found that David had been there.

“He said he would drive over to Lilith’s and bring you back,” said Mrs. Dudley.

“I came the short way, cut across the Blanchards’ yard,” explained Polly. “That’s why I didn’t meet him.”

“He seemed anxious to see you to-night, so he will probably be here soon. He is going back early in the morning.”

“Then he won’t stay for the party,” said Polly. “I thought maybe that is what brought him down.”

She repeated this to David himself.

“No,” he replied indifferently, “I don’t train with that crowd. Are you going?”

“Of course,” Polly answered.

He looked at her keenly. “With whom?” he asked.

“With two or three of the girls, Lilith Brooks, for one.”

“In whose car?”

“I believe Russell Ely is going to drive.”

“Oh! I might have known,” he commented stiffly.

Polly laughed. “No, you mightn’t,” she returned. “Philip Lee was intending to take us, but they had unexpected company at home and their car was needed. That is why we are going with Russell. I don’t see why you can’t stay over and go with us.”

“Marietta wishes to return at once,” he said. “Besides, I don’t care for that sort of thing. I wonder that you do.”

“Why shouldn’t I? They are all my friends. I am sure it will be very pleasant.”

David nodded abstractedly. “There is something I wish to ask you,” he said slowly, and waited.

“I am listening.”

“Will you promise to do it?”

“I make no promises in the dark,” she laughed.

“I should think you might do one little favor for me,” he complained.

“David, I am ready to do little things for you, or big things; but I cannot say positively that I will do this special thing without knowing what it is.”

“Well, then—will you, for my sake, stay away from that foolish party?”

A sudden flame in the girl’s eyes made David flinch.

“So that is why you came down from Camp Converse,” she said—“that!” Her low voice was tense with scorn. “You have shown me plainly—just—what—you are!”

With her first words she had sprung to her feet, and now she darted to the doorway.

“Polly! Wait! Wait!” cried David, putting out a hand.

But she eluded him and was on the stairs before he could reach her.

“Polly! Polly!” he called.

There was no answer, and he heard the door of her room shut with a click. It was quiet in the hall upstairs.

He hesitated a moment. Then he put on his hat in a bewildered way and passed out into the street.

CHAPTER IV
THE BIRTHDAY FÊTE

POLLY awoke early. Her first feeling was one of vague depression. Then her mind cleared, and she knew what had happened—it was all over between her and David. And this was the day of the fête, the day which she had anticipated with such pleasure! She had planned to write a full account of it to her lover. Now—! Thoughts came fast, bringing only pain. She sprang out of bed and began to dress.

Of course, she must go to Samoosic Point. If she stayed at home it would cause too much talk. But how could she meet people with gayety, when she longed to run away from everybody, to hide, to rest, to think! She went down to breakfast with a forced smile, and managed to go through the meal without evoking any inquiries. She did not wish to tell even her father and mother any sooner than was needful.

By the time the car came she had in large measure regained her usual composure, and she hoped nobody would guess that she was playing a part.

Arrived at the cottage all was gay with flags and flowers and festival dress. Merry talk and laughter mingled with music from a hidden orchestra, the wide, glittering waters of the harbor, the arch of blue above, made one glad to be part of such gladness. It would have been a sorrowing heart indeed that could hold to its grief amid such surroundings.

Polly was young and she was human. She was at once drawn into the heart of the festivities, until she nearly forgot that she had awakened that morning in company with trouble.

One of a group of merrymakers, she was strolling down towards Cliff Grove, when along the drive by the sea-wall came a trim motor car. Polly’s breath seemed to stop—the driver was David Collins, the girl at his side was Marietta Converse!

Several spied the pair and ran to head them off. Lilith Brooks, who had Polly’s arm, glanced sidewise. Polly was white, and her eyes had a look that made Lilith shrink. Yet she clung tightly to her friend, as if she feared she was going to break away. Polly, however, to Lilith’s astonishment, resumed her talk with the others and did not even glance in the direction of the newcomers.

“Did you know David was here?”—“Have you seen Marietta Converse? She came with him!”—“I thought they were both in the Adirondacks. When did they come back?”—“Polly had better be looking after David! He has a new girl!”—These, with many variations—all innocently for the most part—were flung in Polly’s ears through the hours before luncheon. How she met them she hardly knew; yet Lilith, loyal Lilith, reported to her afterwards that nobody would have known but that she had planned the surprising occurrence herself.

Polly dreaded the evening. During the day she had managed to keep as far away from David as possible, and John Eustis had unconsciously assisted her efforts by inviting her, with several others, to take a sail to one of the neighboring islands. But now, as the sun was dropping low, she wondered what disagreeable circumstances the dance would bring. What predicaments might it not have in store! At first she thought she would not dance at all. But directly she decided that such a course would draw unpleasant attention her way, and David might think that she was keeping out of the frolic for fear of him. She concluded to give herself free rein rather than run the risk of such conjecture on his part.

As daylight waned it was forced upon Polly’s notice that David was holding himself somewhat apart from the general merrymaking.

“I wonder if he is going to mull out the evening,” she mused. “Anyway, he shall have no opportunity to think that I am forlorn on his account.” And she threw herself into the fun with a zest that left little doubt in the minds of her friends that she was not grieving for her lover, whatever might be the trouble between them.

The musicians gathered on the broad veranda, the young folks flocked inside. Patricia and a New York guest led the dance.

Once Polly and Russell Ely waltzed so close to David, who was standing alone near a window, that Polly’s dress must have brushed him as she passed.

“He looks as if he wanted to shoot somebody,” said Russell in an undertone—“probably me,” he added with a tiny smile. “What’s the matter with him, anyhow?”

Polly laughed, a little light laugh which she let do duty for an answer.

“I used to like David Collins,” Russell went on; “but lately, I can’t understand him.... I thought I’d never tell you; but I believe I will.”

“What?” responded Polly.

“In a moment.”

The music stopped as the two neared an outside door. Russell led his partner to a small balcony, and they sat down.

“It is what he said to me a few weeks ago,” he began at once, “and to this hour I cannot think what could have called it out. We met on the street, and he walked up to me and said in the most abrupt way, ‘Ely, I’d rather you would steal money out of my pocket than to do as you are doing!’—I replied, ‘What have I done?’—‘Done!’ he ejaculated, and walked off scowling. I’d give a good deal to know what he meant.”

“David is peculiar,” sighed Polly.

“All of that,” he returned. “If you’ll excuse my saying it—I don’t want to meddle or give advice where it isn’t desired—I have told myself more than once, ‘If Polly Dudley marries David Collins I am afraid she will rue it.’ From my outlook he is not a man calculated to make any woman happy, least of all one of your make-up. Forgive my candor.” For the girl was silent.

A dark figure passed below the balcony, and as the light of a lantern struck across his face they discerned the features of David.

“‘Speak of angels...’” quoted Russell with a soft laugh. “You are not offended?”

“You are too old a friend to give offense in that way,” said Polly. “I thank you.”

“You needn’t. Are you engaged for the next dance?”

“Yes, to me,” spoke up a voice outside.

Polly started. How much had he overheard?

The musicians began another waltz.

“I’d better get out of the way,” said Russell in Polly’s ear. “Sorry I can’t have the pleasure—”

David Collins leaped the low rail. “Come, Polly!” he said.

The girl did not stir as Russell with a pleasant word passed inside. She was thinking hard.

“Come!” reiterated David. His voice was stern as he laid his hand on her arm. The motion was one of proprietorship.

“You take a good deal for granted,” spoke Polly at last. “Hadn’t you better sit down?”

“Don’t be a fool! Come on!”

“Your implication sounds rather rude to my ears,” smiled Polly.

He paid no heed. “Are you coming or not?” he asked with a tinge of impatience.

“Not,” answered Polly. “I am used to being asked, rather than commanded.”

“Pshaw!” David scorned. “Do you want a scene?”

“No. I want to sit still. I am tired.” She sighed wearily.

“Why didn’t you say so before?” pettishly. He took the chair that Russell had vacated.

“Let’s go home,” he resumed. “You are as sick of all this as I am.”

“I am sick of the way you behave,” she returned. “You make me ashamed of you.”

“That should be reversed,” observed David coldly.

A tiny smile puckered Polly’s lips.

“Oh, yes, laugh!” he burst out. “It is what you have been doing all day.”

Marietta and her partner whirled past the doorway.

Polly arose. “If we must talk in this fashion,” she responded, “we had better find a more secluded spot.”

“I will take you home,” he decided, offering his arm.

Many glances followed them as they picked their way between the dancers. Polly wore a mask of smiles. David looked straight ahead. So they reached the front entrance.

“I will bring the car round,” he said.

“Not for me,” answered Polly softly. And she stepped outside.

“Are you refusing to go with me?” he questioned severely.

“We cannot talk here,” she demurred, and led the way to a seat under a tree.

“Will you answer me?” he scowled.

“You brought Marietta down, and I think you had better take her home.”

“Oh! if that is all, I can come back for her. Or she can go along with somebody else.”

“No,” Polly replied quietly, “that will not do. I’ll return as I came.”

“H’m! I might have known you would not miss going with Ely.”

Polly did not reply. “What do you wish to say to me?” she asked.

With a little growl of disapproval, he dropped to the seat beside her.

“If you won’t,” he began, “I suppose you won’t; and I want this business disposed of. I am tired of our everlasting squabbling. Perhaps a girl likes it—I don’t.”

Polly sat silent. She was resolved not to be brought into another argument; she knew how little it would avail.

“Well?” spoke up David, after a moment of stillness.

Polly drummed lightly the arm of the bench.

“Why don’t you say something?” David’s voice was a bit impatient.

“I have nothing to say,” she sighed.

“Not even an apology?” he asked in a surprised tone.

“For what?”

“Now, don’t pose as a martyr!”

“I might,” she replied with a little bitter laugh. “To-day has given me sufficient excuse for it.”

“To-day!” he echoed, “to-day! When I have accorded you full reign, and let you do exactly as you pleased!”

She made no response, and he continued. “Do you think it meant no self-sacrifice on my part to allow you to come to such a party in company with another man? Is it nothing for me to let you run about with other fellows? to let you dance with those men?”

Polly smiled.

“And you sit there and laugh!” he fumed.

“Forgive me, David! But it does sound funny. You talk about letting me do this and that! As if you were my master! It is enough to make anybody laugh.”

“So you think it is perfectly right, I suppose, for you to go round with anybody and everybody, without reference to me!”

“That was the agreement,” she replied.

“It was a one-sided agreement, anyway,” he grumbled. “It left me nowhere.”

“I am afraid no agreement would stand,” Polly returned. “I only wish you could see things from my viewpoint.”

“Oh, yes! You are on Don’t-Care-Hill. That’s your viewpoint! If I were there, it wouldn’t make any difference to me what you did.”

“So you think I don’t care!” Polly shook her head with a queer little smile. “But what is the use of going over all this again!” she cried. “How came you to stay over for the fête?” She was sorry the instant the words had crossed her lips fearing what it might lead to.

“Marietta wished it for one thing. And you don’t suppose I would allow you to come down here without me, where I couldn’t keep an eye on you—where—oh, darn it! I’m not going to let you go round with Ely and his crowd—not if I can help myself!”

“Tell me about your trip down,” said Polly, ignoring his answer.

“There isn’t anything to tell,” sulked David.

“Guess I’ll get Russell to take me up to your camp some day,” said Polly quietly. “I should like to see if there isn’t something on that long road worth talking about.”

The young man’s face grew dark.

“You’d better try it!” he cried. “If you ever do, you’ll see me when you get there! And you’ll hear me, too!”

“Why should it be any worse for me to ride up there with him than it was for you to drive down here with Marietta?”

For an instant David stared, a singular, astonished expression on his face. Then it changed. “Oh! you’re jealous of Marietta, are you?” he sneered.

“No, David,” she answered, “not a bit. But one looks to me about the same as the other.”

“Well, it isn’t. I was speaking of coming, and Marietta said she wanted some things at the house, and I told her I would drive her down—just a sort of business arrangement.”

“Yes,” laughed Polly, “I guess that’s a good name for it, just a business arrangement.” She laughed again, a queer little laugh that made David look at her in a puzzled way.

“You know I don’t care anything about Marietta Converse,” he said.

“And you know that I care nothing for Russell Ely,” returned Polly.

“Huh! Looks like it!” scorned David.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that a thousand times. I am tired of being doubted and watched. If you ever reach the point of trusting me, I will—”

As she arose a little group of merry young folks came chattering down the path. One girl spied Polly and David.

“Oh, come on, you two!” she called. “We’re going for a row.”

They halted opposite.

“Give you just three seconds!” cried Clay Boynton, pulling out his watch and striking a match.

Polly returned a light refusal, which started a string of remonstrances.

A boy laid hold of David; but he slipped the grasp and catching Polly’s arm pulled her down beside him on the bench.

“Nice, refined crowd you train with!” he growled before they were well out of hearing.

Polly attempted no apology, only drew away with a quiet good-night.

Without an answering word he let her go, a slim white figure, across the lawn.