“Polly, tell me that you love me! Tell me!” he pleaded.
Something like a sob broke from her lips, and she uttered a little moan.
“I see,” he said unsteadily—“I see! You have no need to speak. I suppose I could have seen before if I had not been blind.”
“There is—David, you know,” Polly said softly.
“David!” he echoed scornfully; “always David! Forgive me. I knew this was no time for speaking, so soon after—” He stopped abruptly. “But why will you let that fellow spoil your life? You don’t really love him! I doubt if you ever did.”
“John Eustis! You don’t know what you are saying!” Polly’s voice held a mixture of fire and tears.
“I know he isn’t worthy of you,” he replied fiercely. “There he is, up in that camp, gallanting all the girls for miles around, and leaving you to eat your heart out—you, worth the whole posse of them put together!”
“He isn’t!” Polly burst out. “How do you know?”
“So folks say. Believe it or not as you choose.”
“I don’t believe it! But what if he is! I don’t care! Probably people are saying that I am a fool not to throw him over.”