FINIS
POLLY O'NEILL was on her sister's front porch reading a letter from
Doctor Sylvia Wharton. It was now spring time.
Sylvia had written that Bobbin was getting on at school in the most
amazing fashion. Not only could she now pronounce Polly's name but
hundreds of others, and she could certainly hear better than she had
several months before.
Nevertheless, Polly let the letter slide out of her hand and the tears
came to her eyes. She was not sad, however, only so extremely glad for
Bobbin's sake and for her own.
"After all, perhaps I am not so entirely selfish a human being as some
persons believe me," she announced to herself with a shrug of her
shoulders. "For at least one little girl in this world does not think
so, and never shall."
Then Polly closed her eyes and fell to dreaming. She was not really
asleep, only resting. She had had rather a hard struggle after Mollie's
fire and her own unfortunate part in it. That wretched cold she had
taken settled on her lungs immediately afterwards and she was now only
strong enough to lead an ordinary existence. There was no thought of her
acting again until the next fall.
She was not yet feeling particularly vigorous, so now although she
plainly heard the sound of a man's footsteps approaching the veranda,
she made no effort to open her eyes. It was probably Billy or one of his
farm men. If a question should be asked of her then would come the time
for answering it.
Nevertheless, she had not expected that the man would walk deliberately
up to her and then stand in front of her without saying a word.
Miss O'Neill felt annoyed and her cheeks flamed with the two bright
spots of color always characteristic of her. Notwithstanding, she opened
her eyes coldly and calmly, haughtily she hoped.
The intruder did not flinch. He merely continued gazing at her and still
without speaking.
But Polly's flush burned deeper, although she also said nothing.
"I had to come, Miss Polly," Richard Hunt announced at last.
Polly motioned to a chair near by. "You were good--to trouble," she
returned slowly. "It has been four months since I saw you last and asked
you to come; and since then I have very nearly died."
Then she smiled and held out her hand with the utmost friendliness.
"Forgive me," she begged. "I am glad to see you at any time. I am afraid
I am behaving like the preacher who reproaches the members of his
congregation for not doing their duty and attending service on the very
Sundays when they have shown up."
But Richard Hunt would not be frivolous.
"Have you wanted to see me?" he asked gravely.
Polly nodded.
"Then why didn't you write or have some one tell me? I would have come
across the world if I had known," he replied.
In return Polly shrugged her shoulders. "I did everything I could when
we were in Colorado to persuade you to be friends with me again. I
behaved without the least pride; I almost begged you to be kind to me.
Of course you were very nice then and interested in Bobbin, but I could
not go on forever pleading for your friendship. Still I thought at least
when you heard I was ill that you might be sorry."
Then to her own complete chagrin Polly felt her eyes filling with tears.
How big and strong and restful Richard Hunt looked! Why had she not had
the sense to have married him in the days when he had cared for her?
Somehow she believed that her life would have been ever so much happier
and more satisfying. She could have gone on with her work too, because
no one in the world except Richard Hunt had ever understood how much of
her heart was wrapped up in it--perhaps because he was an actor himself
and loved his own art.
Notwithstanding, Polly realized that she could scarcely cry before her
visitor for his affection, which she had so deliberately thrown away a
good many years before. Moreover, what would Mollie think of her bad
manners toward their guest?
Slowly she got up from her chair.
"Do come into the house with me and see my sister, Mr. Hunt?" she said
graciously. "And you must stay and have lunch with us, or even longer if
you will. I am sure my brother-in-law will be more than happy to meet
you again."
But Richard Hunt did not stir. "Please sit down again, Polly," he urged
more gently. "You don't look strong enough to be walking about alone. I
want to explain to you why I have seemed unappreciative of your
friendliness. You will have to understand this in the future as well as
now, for possibly after today I shall not see you again."
"Oh!" Polly exclaimed a little huskily, and fortunately she could not
see how white her own face had turned. However, at this moment her
companion was not looking at her.
"I can't be your friend, because I happen still to be too much in love
with you for mere friendship," Richard Hunt continued in the quiet,
self-contained fashion that had always made so strong an impression upon
his companion. "I know that I have had many years to get over this
feeling for you, Polly, and that I should not trouble you by mentioning
my love again. Only I want you to forgive me and to realize why I may
have seemed not to appreciate your wish to be friends."
But Polly was now smiling through her tears and holding out both hands
in her old irrepressible Irish fashion that neither the years nor
circumstances could change.
"But I don't want to be just friends with you either, Richard, if you
are still willing for me to be something more after the way I have
behaved," she whispered. "You see I only pretended I wanted to be your
friend so you would not give me up altogether."
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 98, "Westen" changed to "Western" (famous Western resort)
Page 110, repeated word "at" removed from text. Original read (taken her
at at her word)
Page 132 "a nold" changed to "an old" (an old red jacket)
Page 140, "of" added to text (sides of the room)