“I shouldn’t have dared to ask you if that guardsman of yours were in town; but since the length of New England is between us I thought I might venture.”
Polly laughed, and they talked on and on, until she noticed that they had not turned at the corner nearest home.
“You don’t mind going a little farther, do you?” he asked. “I seldom get a glimpse of you nowadays. What do you say to running up to Castleboro Inn for some toast and tea? The air is just right for a drive.”
But Polly refused, although the invitation became urgent; so the young man reluctantly left her at the hospital entrance.
“What would David say?” raced through her head and would not stop. “What would David say? What would David say?”
“He won’t know it!” Polly retorted. “And it’s all right if he should.”
“What would David say? What would David say?”
Polly went indoors and made herself ready for dinner.
“What would David say? What would David say?” accompanied her upstairs and down, and even to the dining-room door. Once at the table in the presence of her father and mother, the teasing voice vanished. Yet it returned the minute she was alone, and kept up the vexing question until it was finally lost in sleep.
Every morning came a letter from David, and Polly was invariably at the door to take it from the carrier. Sometimes it was little more than a note; but oftener it spread itself over page after page in familiar, affectionate talk.