d
in the papers this morning that those girls in that theatre party last
night were the bridesmaids at the Coates-Islip wedding. They seemed to
know you quite well."

I explained that in selling automobiles one became acquainted with many
people.

Polly shook her head and laughed. Then she turned and looked at me.

"You never sold an automobile in your life," she said.

With difficulty I kept my eyes on the road; but I protested vigorously.

"Don't think I have been spying," said Polly; "I found you out quite by
accident. Yesterday a young man I know asked me to persuade you to turn
in your Phoenix and let him sell you one of the new model. I said
you yourself were the agent for the Phoenix, and he said that, on the
contrary, HE was, and that you had no right to sell the car in his
TERRITORY." I grinned guiltily and said:

"Well, I HAVEN'T sold any, have I?"

"That is not the point," protested Polly. "What was your reason for
telling me you were trying to earn a living selling automobiles?"

"So that I could take you driving in one," I answered.

"Oh!" exclaimed Polly.

There was a pause during which in much inward trepidation I avoided
meeting her eyes. Then Polly added thoughtfully, "I think that was a
very good reason."

In our many talks the name of the Fletcher Farrells had never been
mentioned. I had been most careful to avoid it. As each day passed, and
their return imminent, and in consequence my need to fly grew more near,
and the name was still unspoken, I was proportionately grateful. But
when the name did come up I had reason to be pleased, for Polly spoke
it with approval, and it was not of the owner of Harbor Castle she was
speaking, but of myself. It was one evening about two weeks after we
had met, and I had side-stepped the Lowells and was motoring with Polly
alone. We were talking of our favorite authors, dead and alive.

"You may laugh," said Polly, and she said it defiantly, "and I don't
know whether you would call him among the dead or the living, but I am
very fond of Fletcher Farrell!"

My heart leaped. I was so rattled that I nearly ran the car into a stone
wall. I thought I was discovered and that Polly was playing with me. But
her next words showed that she was innocent. She did not know that the
man to whom she was talking and of whom she was talking were the same.
"Of course you will say," she went on, "that he is too romantic, that he
is not true to life. But I never lived in