He went immediately to the parlour above stairs, and there sat Polly in her best gown—"the sweetest-looking creature," he was wont to say, "this side of Paradise." Polly rose, and his amazement checked his feet a moment. Then he advanced quickly and would have kissed her, but she turned her face away and Stood looking down. They were in a silence full of history. Twice she tried to speak, but an odd stillness followed the first word, giving possibly the more adequate expression to her thoughts.
"How came you here?" he whispered presently.
"I—I have been trying to find you." said she, at length.
He turned, looking from end to end of the large room; they were quite alone.
"Polly," he whispered, "I believe you do love me."
For a little time she made no answer.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head; "that is, I—I do not think
I love you."
"Then why have you come to find me?"
"Because—because you did not come to find me," she answered, glancing down at the toe of her pretty shoe.
She turned impatiently and stood by an open window. She was looking out upon a white orchard. Odours of spring flower and apple blossom were in the soft wings of the wind. Somehow they mingled with her feeling and were always in her memory of that hour. Her arm moved slowly and a 'kerchief went to her eyes. Then, a little tremor in the plume upon her hat Trove went to her side.