They had walked the length of nearly two fields before Ontario had commenced to tell the tale which of necessity must be told; but Polly, though she must have known that her chances of getting back to church were becoming more and more remote, waited without impatience. "I want to know," he said, at last, "whether you can ever learn to love me."
"What's the use, Mr. Moggs?"
"It will be all the use in the world to me."
"Oh, no it won't. It can't signify so very much to anybody."
"Nothing, I sometimes think, can ever be of any use to me but that."
"As for learning to love a man,—I suppose I could love a man without any learning if I liked him."
"But you don't like me, Polly?"
"I never said I didn't like you. Father and mother always used to like you."
"But you, Polly?"
"Oh, I like you well enough. Don't, Mr. Moggs."