Mr. Pollin took both her hands between his, and pressed them warmly.
"Do you love Bert Hemming?" he asked.
She turned her face away, and did not answer. But he felt her hands tremble in his, and saw the red glow on neck and cheek.
"Bring him back," he said. "If you love him, why ruin your own life as well as his?"
"I wrote to him—long ago—and he—he took no notice," whispered Molly.
"And you never wrote again?" inquired her uncle.
"Why should I? He despises me,—or he would have answered that letter. I—I dragged my heart before him," she sobbed.
Mr. Pollin let go her hands, and slipped one arm around her shoulders.
"My dear little girl," he replied, "letters have been known to go astray,—just as conclusions have." He patted her bowed head with his free hand. "Why, once I lost a letter with a money order in it," he added, seriously.
Molly brushed away her tears. "I must go now," she said, moving away from him. She put up her hands to straighten her hair. Then a sudden thought occurred to her, and she plucked Mr. Pollin's sleeve.