“I did not say all big people,” she remarked.
“I appreciate your discrimination,” Valentine said, and with that he rose to take his departure. “I feel I have no right to have touched on these intimate questions,” he added. “Please forgive me. No doubt your ideas about the house are far better than any I could suggest.”
“I think they are,” Polly answered him, evenly. “You see, I have gone over the matter so thoroughly, and I am, on the whole, a practical person.”
“A tantalizing one!” Val might have said in place of this, but though he was conscious of being pricked by her little, indifferent ways, and though he longed to stand beside her and just quietly annex all her troubles, he determined to accept the fact that this was something that could never be, that he was nothing to Polly beyond a pleasant and kind acquaintance, and with as much philosophy as was possible, he, therefore, abstained wholly from leading the conversation to the point dearest to his wishes.
To introduce the subject of his feelings toward her, to speak of what was buried in his heart, was out of the question, when she showed him so plainly that she loved to guard her independence, and had, as a matter of fact, not too flattering an opinion about him.
It was evident to Valentine that although Polly had seemingly become his friend and the friend of Grace, and although she was most truly grateful to him for all he had done during the recent sad time, the girl had never completely forgiven him for the part he had played that bygone day, and that however kind she might seem to be, in reality she had hardened her heart against him now and in the future.
Valentine was very human, and the thought of this definite barrier to this chance of happiness, hurt him sharply.
Nevertheless, he allowed Polly’s autocratic little will to set him aside as though he had been a pigmy, and he started on the task of burying his hopes before they had crept beyond the confines of a dream.
He went back to Dynechester in a subdued mood.
He thought incessantly of that big, gloomy house, and of Polly’s thin face and form, and her wonderful eyes. He did not doubt her spirit, but her physique was very fragile. How would she bear with the brunt of life’s warfare? Would the future dim the beauty of her heart as it stole the color from her lips and eyes? Or would some other win the right to stand as far as earthly power could go between her and all ill?