“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that a thousand times. I am tired of being doubted and watched. If you ever reach the point of trusting me, I will—”
As she arose a little group of merry young folks came chattering down the path. One girl spied Polly and David.
“Oh, come on, you two!” she called. “We’re going for a row.”
They halted opposite.
“Give you just three seconds!” cried Clay Boynton, pulling out his watch and striking a match.
Polly returned a light refusal, which started a string of remonstrances.
A boy laid hold of David; but he slipped the grasp and catching Polly’s arm pulled her down beside him on the bench.
“Nice, refined crowd you train with!” he growled before they were well out of hearing.
Polly attempted no apology, only drew away with a quiet good-night.
Without an answering word he let her go, a slim white figure, across the lawn.