Polly went to bed; but sleep did not come. That first exaltation had passed and left her heart quivering and sad. She reviewed her talk with Sardis. Why had he sought her opinion? What was it to him? Questions clamored for answers. Why should her path always lead through such tangles? There was Lilith--she had come up to Overlook, heart-free, untroubled; now she was radiantly happy with her new-found lover. Patricia had had a little bitterness which lasted only long enough to make the joy that had followed it seem the sweeter. She was not envious of her friends--oh, no, not in the least degree. She rejoiced in their gladness; yet she could not resist comparing her way with theirs. During the later years they had been together David was but an unsatisfactory lover. She had felt trammeled by his watchful, jealous eyes. Their love, if love it had really been, looked now but the shadow of the joyousness which she realized love might be. And only within a few hours she had practically told Sardis Merrifield that the really greatest happiness the right kind of woman could have was in her labor for others! What a hypocrite she was! When her heart was yearning, not for increased opportunity for work, but for the love that was not for her! She scorned, she despised herself, and yet this new emotion was something beyond her power. Hours dragged by with thoughts like these racing through her brain. Finally weariness overcame her and she slept. It was late when she awoke. She rose and dressed quickly, suddenly remembering that she was to take Benedicta down to Overlook and had planned to start early. Sardis was hanging up the dishpans as Polly came into the kitchen. “Suppose you ride down to Overlook with us,” she said. “I’m going to take two or three of the children, and Dolly will enjoy it better if you are with her.” “Thank you,” he smiled; “I shall be glad to go. I need some supplies, and the grocer won’t be here until to-morrow; so I was thinking I’d beg your car and run down and get them. This makes it all right.” “I didn’t know you could drive,” Polly looked surprised. “Yes. I learned last summer. The car was a Grant Six, similar to yours. I have not touched one this year, but I think I have not forgotten.” “Then you don’t need me, and you can take more children.” He looked at her earnestly, almost questioningly. For an instant Polly was afraid that he was offended at her suggestion. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I do need you--I think I have always needed you. I only wish that you needed me.” He was still looking steadily across the corner of the kitchen table into the brown eyes. They widened a bit with astonishment, and then flashed with incredulous joy. Her cheeks paled and flushed. She had the poise of a startled bird just ready to take wing. “Miss Dudley, do you--need me? Do you?” He bent towards her, and involuntarily she drew back. “No, don’t!” he pleaded. “I’m not coming--unless you want me.”