“Aren’t you coming with us on the yacht?”
“Am I?” His handsome face lighted hopefully.
“Of course. Dad expects you to. What kind of people should we be to leave any friend behind, with matters as they are?”
“Ah, yes.” The hope passed out of his face. “Dictates of humanity, and that sort of thing. I think, if you and Mr. Brewster—”
“Please don’t be silly, Fitz,” she pleaded. “You know it would make me most unhappy to leave you.”
Rarely did the scion of Southern blood and breeding lose the self-control and reserve on which he prided himself, but he had been harassed by events to an unwonted strain of temper.
“Is it making you unhappy to leave any one else here?” he blurted out.
The challenge stirred the girl’s spirit.
“No, indeed! I wouldn’t care if I never saw any of them again. I’m tired of it all. I want to go home,” she said, like a pathetic child.
“Oh, Miss Polly,” he began, taking a step toward her, “if you’d only let me—”