“David!” he echoed scornfully; “always David! Forgive me. I knew this was no time for speaking, so soon after--” He stopped abruptly. “But why will you let that fellow spoil your life? You don’t really love him! I doubt if you ever did.” “John Eustis! You don’t know what you are saying!” Polly’s voice held a mixture of fire and tears. “I know he isn’t worthy of you,” he replied fiercely. “There he is, up in that camp, gallanting all the girls for miles around, and leaving you to eat your heart out--you, worth the whole posse of them put together!” “He isn’t!” Polly burst out. “How do you know?” “So folks say. Believe it or not as you choose.” “I don’t believe it! But what if he is! I don’t care! Probably people are saying that I am a fool not to throw him over.” “Not exactly that. Most of them think you have done it--just as I did. You certainly ought to. I suppose I should be ashamed of myself, talking this way; but I’m not. I used to think David Collins was a pretty fair sort; but the way he has tormented you is enough--I can’t help hoping he’ll get his pay for it all, and I don’t doubt he will.” Polly listened with mingled anger and sorrow, added to the wonder that she did not speak out in David’s defense. Was it true that David was--doing that? Was he? It was not like him--and yet-- * * * * * Suddenly Polly came to herself with a start. What had John been saying? She had not heard. She had been up in the Maine woods with David. “If you can give me one little hope,” he went on, “I will try to wait patiently until this affair with David is settled. If I have your permission to keep on loving you--as I must always love you whether you will or not--I can go away happier. Polly, may I carry that bit of hope with me?” “Oh, no, no, John, you must not!” she cried hurriedly. “I shall never--marry! That I have decided. I expect to be a nurse. I enjoy taking care of people, especially children, and I think father and mother will like me to do that. The children here are so interesting. They make me forget--” Her voice became inaudible. “It will take more than interesting children to make me forget!” exclaimed the young man. Then he--the self-contained John Eustis--did a surprising thing. He caught Polly’s hand and pressed it impetuously to his lips. In vain she tried to pull away. Gripping the little hand with a force that hurt, he left fierce, passionate kisses upon fingers and palm. When they drove into Overlook they were conversing in a friendly way, but with more than a touch of constraint, and the good-byes were as conventional as they were brief. CHAPTER XIX AN UNINVITED GUEST AND A MYSTERY Patricia had come up to Overlook, had stayed a week, and had gone back to Fair Harbor, leaving manifold regrets that the visit could not have been longer. Patricia Illingworth in her happiest mood always made friends wherever she went, and this time Patricia was in her very happiest mood.