The next minute Patricia was rattling on again. “I don’t believe I’ll come up, after all,” she observed lightly. “I’m afraid Abbe isn’t a good sport. Why don’t you take Marston? He knows how to keep up his end.” “I don’t want him,” replied Polly. “Wouldn’t he feel flattered to know that!” laughed Patricia. “He wouldn’t like the position. He would want to go down to Overlook every evening. You know Lilith is going up to help me?” “No! Is she really? I’m afraid you will both die of lonesomeness.” “We shall love it,” Polly assured her with emphasis. “I’m willing. On the whole I think I’ll come. How soon you going?” “Next week if the cabin is ready.” “How alluring that sounds! Bye-bye! Be good to yourself, and don’t fall in love with that little Abbe!--No, dear, don’t come down, I can let myself out.” Polly turned back to her room with a faint smile. “Fall in love with Dr. Abbe!” she scorned. She had been writing to her Cousin Floyd. He was about to be married, and when Patricia came she was explaining to him why she could not be present at the wedding. She took up the half-written note upon her desk. “I shouldn’t want to go, anyway,” she said to herself. “I am not interested in weddings--I wonder if I ever shall be.” Suddenly her eyes brimmed. “Oh, David,” she sobbed softly, “why couldn’t you trust me!” Tears eased the tension, and presently her thoughts touched Patricia. So she, too, had become acquainted with sorrow. Her old friend was surely not the sweet-hearted Patty she had known so long. Could the trouble have to do with John Eustis? Until quite recently the two had seemed to drift together wherever they might be, and Polly had sometimes wondered if they cared seriously for each other. Now she recalled that Patty seldom spoke of him in a personal way, and her name had not been included in John’s list of possible members of the week-end party at Overlook. Patricia was not a girl to give confidences freely. Hitherto she had never seemed other than happy; and her griefs if any existed had not been shared even with Polly. That afternoon in the bookshop she met John Eustis. As he waited at a counter, she fancied that he was graver than usual; then, as he turned, a smile illuminated his plain face, and he came forward quickly. “It’s an age since I’ve seen you!” he exclaimed. “I was afraid you had gone.” “Not till next week. Mrs. Gresham decided that the kitchen must be enlarged and have a piazza of its own; so we’re waiting until the addition is floored and shut in. I am wondering what Benedicta will say.” He laughed. “Write me. It will be worth hearing.” “Come up to Overlook and hear it,” Polly returned. “Why can’t you and Kate?--Do!” She was about to add, “Patricia has promised me a week,” but a sudden impulse made her wait.