Polly sprang to her feet. "What do you say?" she cried.
"It's beastly, I know," declared Pickering, his face aflame, "but,
Polly, if you knew—I really couldn't help it; Jasper was"—
"Don't tell me that it was any of Jasper's doings," cried Polly vehemently, clasping her hands tightly together, so afraid she might say something to make the matter worse. "I know, Pickering, it was quite your own fault if you won't speak."
"O, Polly!" exclaimed Pickering, the hot blood all over his face, "don't say that; please don't."
"I must; because I know it is the truth," said Polly uncompromisingly. "If it isn't, why, then come with us to-morrow, Pickering," and her brow cleared.
"I can't, Polly, I can't possibly," cried Pickering in distress; "ask me anything but that, and I'll do it."
"This is the only thing that you ought to do," said Polly coldly. "O, Pickering, suppose that anything should happen so that you never could speak!" she added reproachfully.
"I'm sure I don't want to speak to a man when I've broken friendship with him," said Pickering sullenly. "What is there to talk about, I'd like to know?"
"If you've broken friendship with Jasper, I'm quite, quite sure it is your own fault," hotly declared Polly again; "Jasper never turned away from a friend in his life." And Polly broke off suddenly and walked down the long room, aghast to find how angry she was at each step.
"Don't you turn away from me, Polly," begged Pickering in such a piteous tone that Polly felt little twinges of remorse, and in a minute she was by his side again.