This time her companion did not smile. “I wish to heaven then that she had faith in me now, or if not faith at least a little of her old liking,” he answered almost bitterly. “For the last year, for some reason or other, Miss Betty has seemed to dislike me. She has avoided me at every possible opportunity. And I have never been able to find out whether I had offended her or if she had merely grown weary of my friendship. I have been so troubled by it that I have made a confidant of Miss Everett and asked her to help me if she could. I thought perhaps if Betty—Miss Betty, I mean—could see that Meg Everett liked me and was willing to be my intimate friend, that possibly she might forgive me in time. But it has all been of no use, she has simply grown colder and colder. And I fear I only weary Miss Everett in talking of Miss Betty so much of the time. She recently told me that I did.”
Polly’s lips trembled and her shoulders shook. What a perfectly absurd creature a male person was at all times and particularly when under the influence of love!
The next moment the girl’s face had strangely sobered.
“You are not worthy to tie her shoe-string, you know, Anthony; but then I never have seen any one whom I have thought worthy of her. Most certainly neither Esther nor I approved of the nobility as represented by young Count Von Reuter.”
Aloud Polly continued this interesting debate with herself, apparently not concerned with whether or not her companion understood her.
“Certainly I am unworthy to tie any one’s shoe-string,” the young man murmured finally, “but would you mind confiding in me just whose shoe-string you mean?”
From under her dark lashes half resentfully and half sympathetically the girl surveyed the speaker. “You have a sense of humor, Anthony, and that is something to your credit,” she remarked judicially. “Well, much as I really hate to say it, I might as well tell you that I don’t think the Princess dislikes you intensely, provided you tell her just why you have been so intimate with Meg for these past months. No, I have nothing more to say. Only I am going down to the lake for half an hour to join Mollie and Billy Webster and if you wait here you may have a chance of speaking to Betty alone when she comes to invite us in to tea.”
Then quietly Polly O’Neill strolled away with every appearance of calmness, although she was really feeling greatly perturbed and distressed. Certainly something must have worked a reformation in her character, for although she positively hated the idea of Betty Ashton’s marrying, had she not just thrust her deliberately into the arms of her fate. Yet, of course, her feeling was a purely selfish one, since she had no real fault to find with Anthony. So if Betty loved him, he must have his chance.
Then with a smile and a sigh Polly once more shrugged her shoulders, which is the Irish method of acknowledging that fate is too strong for the strongest of us. She reached the edge of the lake and madly signaled to Mollie and Billy to allow her to enter their boat. They were at no great distance off and yet were extremely slow in approaching the shore. Evidently they seemed to feel no enthusiasm for the newcomer’s society at the present moment.
“I thought you were asleep, Polly,” Mollie finally murmured in a reproachful tone, while Billy Webster eyed his small canoe rather doubtfully.