Several spied the pair and ran to head them off. Lilith Brooks, who had Polly’s arm, glanced sidewise. Polly was white, and her eyes had a look that made Lilith shrink. Yet she clung tightly to her friend, as if she feared she was going to break away. Polly, however, to Lilith’s astonishment, resumed her talk with the others and did not even glance in the direction of the newcomers.
“Did you know David was here?”—“Have you seen Marietta Converse? She came with him!”—“I thought they were both in the Adirondacks. When did they come back?”—“Polly had better be looking after David! He has a new girl!”—These, with many variations—all innocently for the most part—were flung in Polly’s ears through the hours before luncheon. How she met them she hardly knew; yet Lilith, loyal Lilith, reported to her afterwards that nobody would have known but that she had planned the surprising occurrence herself.
Polly dreaded the evening. During the day she had managed to keep as far away from David as possible, and John Eustis had unconsciously assisted her efforts by inviting her, with several others, to take a sail to one of the neighboring islands. But now, as the sun was dropping low, she wondered what disagreeable circumstances the dance would bring. What predicaments might it not have in store! At first she thought she would not dance at all. But directly she decided that such a course would draw unpleasant attention her way, and David might think that she was keeping out of the frolic for fear of him. She concluded to give herself free rein rather than run the risk of such conjecture on his part.
As daylight waned it was forced upon Polly’s notice that David was holding himself somewhat apart from the general merrymaking.
“I wonder if he is going to mull out the evening,” she mused. “Anyway, he shall have no opportunity to think that I am forlorn on his account.” And she threw herself into the fun with a zest that left little doubt in the minds of her friends that she was not grieving for her lover, whatever might be the trouble between them.
The musicians gathered on the broad veranda, the young folks flocked inside. Patricia and a New York guest led the dance.
Once Polly and Russell Ely waltzed so close to David, who was standing alone near a window, that Polly’s dress must have brushed him as she passed.
“He looks as if he wanted to shoot somebody,” said Russell in an undertone—“probably me,” he added with a tiny smile. “What’s the matter with him, anyhow?”
Polly laughed, a little light laugh which she let do duty for an answer.
“I used to like David Collins,” Russell went on; “but lately, I can’t understand him.... I thought I’d never tell you; but I believe I will.”