That went the way of the first, and a third was written. This appeared to bring more satisfaction, for she read it a second time. DEAR DAVID: Your two letters have made me take a long look ahead, and in view of what I see there I have come to a decision. There is no use in our going on as we have been going for four or five years. I cannot bear it. I must live my life in my own way--I must be free, I must be myself. You would put me in fetters of your own making. Instead of trusting me out in the world, you would keep me away from the world. In fact, you would make me a prim, silent, cold somebody else, whom in time you would cease to love because I should not be worth loving. You do not trust me, no matter what I say. You know that I care for you more than for anybody else. Many times I have told you so; still, reiteration does no good, for you will not believe. I see no way but for us to give up our plans for a future together. Even friends must trust each other, and marriage without confidence means unhappiness for two. Forever your friend POLLY MAY DUDLEY As Polly expected, David resented the high stand she had taken, and his prompt answer consisted of alternate phrases of reproach and apology. His second letter, however, was milder in tone, gracefully acknowledging his mistakes, and agreeing, if she would give him one more chance, never again to cause her grief by any behavior such as he had been guilty of in the past. After long debates between head and heart, the latter won the fight, and Polly wrote a letter which made David go gayly for a week. Patricia’s father planned for her a birthday fête, ending with a dance, at the Illingworth Cottage at Samoosic Point, some seven miles from Fair Harbor. Invitations were sent out three days in advance, and Polly looked forward to a pleasant outing. On the evening before the birthday she went over to see Lilith Brooks. Some arrangements were to be made for the next morning. She found her friend ready for a walk, and the two girls strolled off in the direction of green fields and fewer dwellings. A car whizzed by, a roadster with yellow wheels. For months afterwards a yellow-wheeled roadster gave Polly a start. “Wh-why!” gasped Lilith, “that looks just like David!” “It is,” said Polly quietly. “I didn’t know he was here.” Lilith’s voice still held its astonishment. “It is news to me,” laughed Polly; but the laugh did not sound true. “Who was the girl? Could you tell?” “I think it was Marietta Converse.” “It is queer,” Lilith went on, glancing sidewise at her companion. “Do you suppose Marietta rode down from Camp Converse with him?” Polly’s heart was repeating the same question. Then things began to right themselves. If both Marietta and David had errands in town it was only natural that they should come together. When Polly returned home she found that David had been there.