Tom laughed sheepishly. “Well, I did send them, Polly, but I thought I would make you guess who it could have been. I never dreamed you would give me credit for the roses.”
“Why shouldn’t I? It would have seemed queer if you hadn’t sent flowers, when everyone within a thousand miles, sent boxes and bouquets to me, all yesterday and all day today.”
“They did! What for?” asked Tom, wonderingly.
“What for? Why, goodness me! Don’t you suppose my friends were glad that I wasn’t drowned,” retorted Polly, in amazement. “Everyone that ever knew me, sent love and flowers, so I never thought it strange that you sent me some, too.”
This was a hard slap for Tom, and he winced under the words which denoted that Polly considered him only as one of many friends. Even the roses presented that night, with a little heart-shaped card tied in the center of the group of stems, now seemed useless in his eyes.
But Polly had not removed the roses from the box so she failed to find the heart-shaped card that Tom had spent the whole afternoon in inditing. Anne gave the box to Mrs. Brewster, and when that sensible mother took the roses out, one by one, and found the card, she put it away with the cards that had come with other flowers. She also forgot to mention the card to Polly, so the girl never knew that Tom had written her of his undying love. As Anne replied, for Polly, to all the cards, Tom received the same sort of polite little note as others did, with Polly’s name and a “per A.B.” signed to it.
Finding Polly so self-possessed that evening, Tom pulled himself together with an effort, and tried to converse on various topics of general interest. Anne eagerly assisted in the conversation, so Polly listened without having much to say.
Tom tried to make Polly talk, too, but without success, so he became silent and left most of the entertaining for Anne to do. But even she found the task of finding subjects to interest two dumb people rather irksome, and she decided on a coup.
“Excuse me for a moment, please, while I see if John has returned with his father.” So saying, Anne ran from the room.
Polly sat up and watched her go as if her protector had turned traitor. She glanced at Tom in a half doubtful manner as if to ask what he would do now with the chaperone out of the way?