Roy looked intently at her. Polly flushed faintly.
"Yes, I know—of course you want to hear of anything that he said. I'm trying to remember. Such a lot happened then, and I've gone through so much since. But I don't think he said much of any sort. You see he had walked the whole way from Valenciennes, giving up his horse to a man worse than himself. And he was too thoroughly dead-beat to do more than just answer questions."
Polly had turned her face away. Roy whispered, "I say, Molly, one minute,—I want a word with her."
Molly obediently fled, and Roy crossed the rug. As he expected, there were tears upon Polly's cheek.
"Polly, I want you to understand."
A hasty movement disposed of the tears, and she turned a quiet face towards him. "I think I do."
"Den is not the man to change."
"Many men do—"
"Not Den. He's not that sort."
She smiled a little. "My dear Roy, you have not seen him, except for one day, since—how long ago?"