“She drawed her money out of the bank, and horn-swoggled me into lying for her. What won't a girl do when she's in love with a fellow? If you 'ain't knowed it before, it's high time you did know it!”
That last remark of the deacon's had disgusted reference only to the matter of the money. But it conveyed something else to Captain Boyd Mayo.
He ran out of the store!
Far up the road he overtook her. She was hurrying home. When she faced him he saw tears on her cheeks, though the generous gloom of evening wrapped them where they stood. He took both her hands.
“Polly Candage, why did you risk your money on me?” he demanded.
“I knew you would succeed!” she murmured, turning her face away. “It was an—a good investment.”
“When you gave it, did you—Were you thinking—Was it only for an investment, Polly?”
She did not reply.
“Look here! This last thing ought to tie my tongue, for I owe everything to you. But my tongue won't stay tied—not now, Polly. I don't care if there is somebody else up-country. I ought to care. I ought to respect your—”
She pulled a hand free and put plump fingers on his lips. “There is nobody up-country; there never has been anybody, Boyd,” she whispered.