Her suggestion that they should
"part friends," though she returned upon it several times, did not
sound as if it were made in earnest, and this was Christopher's one
solace.
"Will you meet me reg'lar once a week," he pleaded, "just for a
talk?"
"No, it's too often."
"I know what that means," exclaimed the young man in the bitterness
of his soul. "There's somebody else. Yes, that's it; there's
somebody else."
"Well, and what if there was?" asked Polly, looking far away. "I
don't see as it would be any business of yours."
"Oh, just listen to that!" cried Christopher. "That's how a girl
talks to you when she knows you're ready to jump into the river!
It's my belief that girls haven't much feeling."
The outrageous audacity of this avowal saved the speaker from
Polly's indignation. She saw that he was terribly driven, and, in
spite of herself, once more softened towards him; for Polly had
never disliked Mr. Parish; from the very first his ingenuous
devotedness excited in her something, however elementary, of
reciprocal feeling.
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