"Where is he, Fitz?"
"On his way down the mountain. Perhaps down here by now."
"He's coming to the ship?" she asked.
"No; he doesn't expect to see you again. He was coming down to
make sure that we got off safely."
"Fitz, dear Fitz, I must see him!"
"Miss Polly," he said miserably, "I'll do anything I can."
"Oh, poor Fitz!" she cried pityingly, her eyes filling with tears.
"I wish for your sake it wasn't so. And you have been so splendid
about it!"
"I've tried to make amends, and play fair. It hasn't been easy.
Shall I go back and look for him? It's a small town, and I can
find him."
"Yes. I'll write a note. No; I won't. Never mind. I'll manage it.
Fitz, go and rest. You're worn out," she said gently.
Back into her stateroom went Miss Polly. From that time forth no
man saw her nor woman, either, except perhaps her maid, and maids
are dark and discreet persons on occasion. If this particular one
kept her own counsel when she saw a trim but tremulous figure drop
lightly over the starboard rail of the Polly far forward, pick up
a small traveling-bag from the pier, step behind the opportune
screen of a load of coffee on a flat car, and reappear to view
only as a momentary swish of skirt far away at the shore end; if
this same maid told Mr.
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