“Do you mean it?” he demanded almost angrily. “You’re not playing with me?”
Polly did not answer. She looked up into his eyes, her own still wet. He took her in his arms again.
“I don’t see why!” he said, softly. “There’s nothing about me for you to fall in love with. Are you sure?”
“Very sure,” she lifted her head. “I was sure last night, when you nearly told me—before those Indians came. Why didn’t you want to tell me?”
“Because I knew I’d no business to,” replied Scott, roughly. “I’ve no business to, now, but I’m human and when you stood there with the sun on your hair, and that look on your face, I fell.”
“I’ll stand that way again,” smiled Polly, “if you’ll stop scowling and say nice things to me. It isn’t a criminal offense, Marc Scott, for an unmarried man to fall in love with me. Don’t feel so badly about it.”
“It may not be criminal, but it’s not square,” replied Scott, obstinately. “With you a rich man’s daughter, and——”
“But not an heiress, remember! That makes a difference,” she said, coaxingly.
“Perhaps—anyhow, I’m glad you’re not rich,” said Scott, soberly. “I think I’d fight with a rich wife.”
“My dear Marc, you and I would fight, no matter who had the money. We’re the scrappy kind. But, on the other hand, we’ll always make up again, and that’s what counts. That’s what Joyce Henderson and I couldn’t do. We went for months and months without a quarrel, but when we once had one we couldn’t get over it.”