"I have told you, Polly, at the very least sixty or seventy times, that I've never done such a thing, and wouldn't, and couldn't. It never came into my 'ead."
"Well, then, we won't say no more about it, and don't put me out again, that's all."
"But there's something else, Polly. You know very well, Polly, what a lot I think of you, don't you now?"
"Oh, I dessay," she replied with careless indulgence.
"Then why won't you let me see you oftener, and—and that kind of thing, you know?"
This was vague, but perfectly intelligible to the hearer. She gave an impatient little laugh.
"Oh, don't be silly! Go on!"
"But it isn't silly. You know what I mean. And you said—"
"There you go, bringing up what I said. Don't worry me. If you can't talk quiet and friendly we'd better not see each other at all. I shouldn't wonder if that was best for both of us."
Polly had never been less encouraging. She seemed preoccupied, and spoke in an idle, inattentive way. Her suggestion that they should "part friends," though she returned upon it several times, did not sound as if it were made in earnest, and this was Christopher's one solace.