"Of course. Dad expects you to. What kind of people should we be
to leave any friend behind, with matters as they are?"
"Ah, yes." The hope passed out of his face. "Dictates of humanity,
and that sort of thing. I think, if you and Mr. Brewster--"
"Please don't be silly, Fitz," she pleaded. "You know it would
make me most unhappy to leave you."
Rarely did the scion of Southern blood and breeding lose the self-
control and reserve on which he prided himself, but he had been
harassed by events to an unwonted strain of temper.
"Is it making you unhappy to leave any one else here?" he blurted
out.
The challenge stirred the girl's spirit.
"No, indeed! I wouldn't care if I never saw any of them again. I'm
tired of it all. I want to go home," she said, like a pathetic
child.
"Oh, Miss Polly," he began, taking a step toward her, "if you'd
only let me--"
She put up one little sunburned hand.
"Please, Fitz! I--I don't feel up to it to-day."
Humbly he subsided.
"I'd no right to ask you the question," he apologized. "It was
kind of you to answer me at all."
"You're really a dear, Fitz," she said, smiling a little wanly.
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