Amos. Polly cried?
Pauline. Yes. She loved you, I’m sure, and thought you were angry with her because she went over to Wrentham with her cousin.
Amos. With Tim! Good land, child, I shouldn’t have been jealous of Tim! But why didn’t she explain? Good gracious! If she didn’t get it, there was nothing to explain!
Pauline. And you went away next day, and she didn’t see you for a year.
Amos. Yes, but—oh, what a hopeless, foolish tangle! And you mailed that letter, child? Has she got it yet?
Pauline. No, I shall go to the office before I go back. Oh, I believe she was going to the milliner’s this afternoon, so probably she’ll get it herself.
Amos. And she’ll read it—for the first time—after forty years! See here, little girl, I’ll be over to-night for the answer, but don’t you tell her I’m coming.
Pauline. But you never go there.
Amos. I did once, and I’m coming again. To-night, you understand, and I want you to give me a clear coast for half an hour or so, will you?
Pauline. Of course.