By the same token, half of the gilded youth of the
capital, and most of the young diplomats, were the sworn slaves of
the girl. It was a confused field, indeed. Well, thank Heaven, she
would soon be out of it! Word had come down from her that she was
busy packing her things. Carroll wandered about the hotel, waiting
for the news that would explain this preparation.
It came, at mid-afternoon, in the person of Miss Polly herself.
Why packing trunks, with the aid of an experienced maid, should,
even in a hot climate, produce heavy circles under the eyes, a
droop at the mouth corners, and a complete submersion of vivacity,
is a problem which Carroil then and there gave up. He had too much
tact to question or comment.
"Oh, I'm so tired!" she said, giving him her hand. "Have you much
packing to do, Fitzhugh?"
"No one has given me any notice to get ready, Miss Polly."
"How very neglectful of me! We may leave at any time."
"Yes; you may. But my ship doesn't seem to be coming in very
fast."
The double entente was unintentional, but the girl winced.
"Aren't you coming with us on the yacht?"
"Am I?" His handsome face lighted hopefully.
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