"Uncle, we must both forget about to-day," she said.
"Not I," he replied. "I am going to write—"
He stopped short, spellbound by her sudden change of countenance and manner. Her eyes fairly flamed. Her whole body trembled.
"You would not dare!" she cried. "Oh, you would not dare! Are you, too, nothing but a busybody?"
Poor old Pollin gasped.
"Good Lord! I meant it for the best," he exclaimed, weakly, "but just as you say, my dear."
He took her home, and, by the time her door was reached, her manner toward him had again warmed.
"It was a charming lunch," she said, as they shook hands.
Mr. Pollin sat at his writing-table, and dipped his pen in the ink, only to dot lines on his blotter.
"The girl was right," he said, "I don't dare."