Denham found himself alone with Polly. He stood looking down upon her with a grave tenderness and questioning. Polly began to tremble.
“We had no expectation of seeing you, sir,” she remarked with great decorum.
She cast one little glance up.
“Have you travelled hard? You are sorely fatigued.”
“Polly, is all between us as it once was?” he asked.
Polly dropped her eyes.
“It is long since we parted,” she said, “and very long since any letter has reached me, sir. I cannot tell how matters may be now. But six years work changes. And I”—then another glance as if she could not help herself—“I do not like to see you so pale. You were not so in past days.”
“There are a few matters to be explained,” Denham remarked quietly. “But first may I beg you to read this short note from Jack? I do not know what he may have said. He exacted from me a promise that I would not fail to give it to you within one half-hour of my first arrival. Jack is now at Verdun with Colonel and Mrs. Baron, as you may have heard.”
“I did not know that. We heard only that Jack was prisoner. It has been a sad grief to me.”
“Will you have his letter now?” asked Denham in his most courteous tone.