'I suppose you keep them all for him,' he continued, with a suspicion of bitterness in his tone; 'that little nun-like gray dress is good enough for Aunt Milly and me. Too much colour would be bad for weak eyes, eh, Polly?'
'I dress for him, of course,' trying to defend herself with dignity; but the next moment she waxed humble again. 'I—I am sorry you do not like the dress, Rex,' she faltered. 'I should like to please you both if I could,' and her eyes filled with tears.
'I think you might sing sometimes to please me when he is not here,' he returned, obstinately; 'just one song, Polly; my favourite one, with that sad, sweet refrain.'
'Oh, not that one,' she repeated, beginning to tremble; 'choose something else, Rex—not that.'
'No, I will have that or none,' he replied, irritably. What had become of Roy's sweet temper? 'You seem determined not to please me in anything,' and he moved away.
Polly watched his tottering steps a moment, and then she sprang after him.
'Oh, Rex, do not be so cross with me; do not refuse my help,' she said, winding her arm round him, and compelling him to lean on her. 'There, you have done yourself mischief,' as he paused, overcome by a paroxysm of coughing. 'How can you—how can you be so unkind to me, Rex?'
He did not answer; perhaps, absorbed in his own trouble, he hardly knew how he tried her; but as he sank back feebly on the cushions, he whispered—
'You will sing it, Polly, will you not?'
'Yes, yes; anything, if you will only not be angry with me,' returned the poor girl, as she hurried away.