After that, if the yacht
turns aside or comes back for a package that some one has left, or
does anything but hold the straightest course on the compass for
the blue and open sea--well, she'll be about the foolishest craft
that ever ploughed salt water."
"I suppose so," admitted Carroll. "Well, I have matters to look
after on board."
Into Mr. Carroll's cabin it is nobody's business to follow him. A
man has a right to some privacy of room and of mind, and if the
Southerner's struggle with himself was severe, at least it was of
brief duration. Within half an hour, he was knocking at Polly
Brewster's door.
"PLEASE go 'way, whoever it is," answered a pathetically weary
voice.
"Miss Polly, it's Fitzhugh. I have a note for you."
"Leave it in the saloon."
"It's important that you see it right away."
"From whom is it?" queried the spent voice.
"From Dr. Pruyn."
"I--I don't want to see it."
"You must!" insisted her suitor.
"Did he say I must?"
"No. I say you must. Forgive me, Miss Polly, but I'm going to wait
here till you say you'll read it."
"Push it under the door," said the girl resignedly.
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