DEAR BEN:
Is anything wrong about Polly?
I met her on the street yesterday. She tried to pass without speaking. I called to her but she walked on. I called again and she turned, hesitatingly, then came back very slowly to meet me half-way. You know how composed her manner always is. But she could not control her emotion: she was deeply, visibly troubled. Strange as it may seem, while I thought of the mystery of her trouble, I could but notice a trifle, as at such moments one often does: she was beautifully dressed: a new charm, a youthful freshness, was all over her as for some impending ceremony. We have always thought of Polly as one of the women who are above dress. Such disregard was in a way a verification of her character, the adornment of her sincerity. Now she was beautifully dressed.
"But what is the meaning of all this?" I asked, frankly mystified.
Something in her manner checked the question, forced back my words.
"You will hear," she said, with quivering lips. She looked me searchingly all over the face as for the sake of dear old times now ended. Then she turned off abruptly. I watched her in sheer amazement till she disappeared.
I have been waiting to hear from you, but cannot wait any longer. What does it mean? Why don't you tell me?
BEVERLEY.
BEVERLEY SANDS TO BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE
July 11.