"
He closed his eyes, and the girl sat studying his face in the dim
light, graving it deep on her inner vision, seeking to formulate
some conception of the strange being so still and placid before
her. How had she ever thought him ridiculous and uncouth? How had
she ever dared to insult him by distrust? What did it matter what
other men, estimating him by their own sordid standards, said of
him? As if her thought had established a connection with his, he
opened his eyes and sat up.
"I knew there was something I wanted to ask you," he said. "What
did your 'Never, never, never' mean?"
"A foolish misunderstanding that I'm ashamed of."
"Was it that--that woman-gossip business?"
"Yes. I was stupid. Will you forgive me?"
"What is there to forgive? Some time, perhaps, you'll understand
the whole thing."
"Please don't let's say anything more about it. I do understand."
This was not quite true. All that Polly Brewster knew was that,
with those clear gray eyes meeting hers, she would have believed
his honor clean and high against the world. The presence of the
woman, even that dress fluttering in the wind, was susceptible of
a hundred simple explanations.
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