“Please go ’way, whoever it is,” answered a pathetically weary voice.
“Miss Polly, it’s Fitzhugh. I have a note for you.”
“Leave it in the saloon.”
“It’s important that you see it right away.”
“From whom is it?” queried the spent voice.
“From Dr. Pruyn.”
“I—I don’t want to see it.”
“You must!” insisted her suitor.
“Did he say I must?”
“No. I say you must. Forgive me, Miss Polly, but I’m going to wait here till you say you’ll read it.”