Now at last, you will let her alone, and you will soon find--Nature will quickly drive you to find--the one you deserve to marry. It looks selfish at such a moment to set my happiness over against your unhappiness, but I've just had news, that at last, after lingering so long and a little mysteriously in Louisville, Polly is coming. Polly is coming with her wedding clothes. We long ago decided to have no wedding. All that we have long wished is to marry one another. Mr. Blackthorne called me a cocksure. Well, Polly is another cocksure. We shall jog along as a perfectly satisfied couple of cocksures on the cocksure road. (I hope to God Polly will never find out that she married _Sal Blivvens_.) Dear fellow, truest of comrades among men, it is inevitable that I reluctantly leave you somewhat behind, desert you a little, as the friend who marries. One awful thought freezes me to my chair this hot July day. You have never said a word about Miss Clara Louise Chamberlain, since the day of my hypothetical charge to the jury. Can it be possible that you followed her up? Did you feed her any more cheques? I have often warned you against Tilly, as inconstant. But, my dear fellow, remember there is a worse extreme than in inconstancy--Clara Louise would be sealing wax. You would merely be marrying 115 pounds of sealing wax. Every time she sputtered in conversation, she'd seal you the tighter. Polly is coming with her wedding clothes. BEN. BEVERLEY SANDS TO BEN DOOLITTLE _July 8._ DEAR BEN: I saw the announcement in the morning paper about Tilly. It wouldn't be worth while to write how I feel. It is true that I traced Miss Chamberlain, homeless in New York. And I saw her. As to whether I have been feeding cheques to her, that is solely a question of my royalties. Royalties are human gratitude; why should not the dews of gratitude fall on one so parched? Besides, I don't owe you anything, gentleman. Yes, I feel you're going--you're passing on to Polly. I append a trifle which explains itself, and am, making the best of everything, the same BEVERLEY SANDS. _A Meditation in Verse_ (_Dedicated to Benjamin Doolittle as showing his favourite weakness_) _How can I mind the law's delay, Or what a jury thinks it knows, Or what some fool of a judge may say? Polly comes with the wedding clothes._ _Time, who cheated me so long, Kept me waiting mid life's snows, I forgive and forget your wrong: Polly comes with the wedding clothes._ _Winter's lonely sky is gone, July blazes with the rose, All the world looks smiling on At Polly in her wedding clothes._ BENJAMIN DOOLITTLE TO BEVERLEY SANDS [A hurried letter by messenger] _July 10, 1912._