Heriot's Choice: A Tale

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

'Dear Polly!' remonstrated Richard; but Mildred interposed with quiet dignity—

'Polly should be just, even though she is unhappy. Roy wished me to read his letter, and I have done so.'

'Forgive me!' returned Polly, almost melting into tears. 'I know I ought not to have spoken so, but it has been such a miserable day,' and she leant against Mildred as she read the note.

She read it once—twice—without comment, and then her features began to work.

'Dear Aunt Milly, how unhappy he is—he—Roy; he cannot have done anything wrong?'

'No, no, my precious; of course not!'

'Then why must we not help him to bear it?'

'We can pray for him, Polly.'

'Yes, yes, but I cannot understand it,' piteously. 'I have always been Roy's friend—always, and now he has made Richard and you his confidants.'

'We are older and wiser, you see,' began Richard, with glib hypocrisy, which did not become him.