Of course, this statement of Betty Graham's at the time was only a surmise on the part of her husband, notwithstanding it turned out to be the correct one.
For Kenneth Helm finally confessed the truth himself in the face of the evidence which Governor Graham held against him. His only excuse was the dangerous and disastrous one that he had longed to grow rich sooner than he could with the everyday grind of a business career.
So, after all, Faith Barton wrote her letter on the same evening she had intended. Betty's and Angel's and Governor Graham's suspicions of Kenneth, besides the facts themselves, were more than enough to convince her judgment, especially when her heart had been having its own misgivings for some time past.
It was in entire meekness of spirit and yet in thanksgiving that Faith Barton decided upon breaking off her engagement, which she was glad never to have acknowledged to any one save Angelique Martins. Angel, she knew, would never betray her. Nevertheless, before Faith had been at home twenty-four hours she had confessed the entire story to Rose Barton and together they had wept over her fortunate escape.
CHAPTER XXIII
Finis
POLLY O'NEILL was on her sister's front porch reading a letter from Doctor Sylvia Wharton. It was now spring time.
Sylvia had written that Bobbin was getting on at school in the most amazing fashion. Not only could she now pronounce Polly's name but hundreds of others, and she could certainly hear better than she had several months before.
Nevertheless, Polly let the letter slide out of her hand and the tears came to her eyes. She was not sad, however, only so extremely glad for Bobbin's sake and for her own.
"After all, perhaps I am not so entirely selfish a human being as some persons believe me," she announced to herself with a shrug of her shoulders. "For at least one little girl in this world does not think so, and never shall."
Then Polly closed her eyes and fell to dreaming. She was not really asleep, only resting. She had had rather a hard struggle after Mollie's fire and her own unfortunate part in it. That wretched cold she had taken settled on her lungs immediately afterwards and she was now only strong enough to lead an ordinary existence. There was no thought of her acting again until the next fall.
She was not yet feeling particularly vigorous, so now although she plainly heard the sound of a man's footsteps approaching the veranda, she made no effort to open her eyes. It was probably Billy or one of his farm men. If a question should be asked of her then would come the time for answering it.
Nevertheless, she had not expected that the man would walk deliberately up to her and then stand in front of her without saying a word.
Miss O'Neill felt annoyed and her cheeks flamed with the two bright spots of color always characteristic of her. Notwithstanding, she opened her eyes coldly and calmly, haughtily she hoped.
The intruder did not flinch. He merely continued gazing at her and still without speaking.
But Polly's flush burned deeper, although she also said nothing.
"I had to come, Miss Polly," Richard Hunt announced at last.
Polly motioned to a chair near by. "You were good – to trouble," she returned slowly. "It has been four months since I saw you last and asked you to come; and since then I have very nearly died."
Then she smiled and held out her hand with the utmost friendliness.
"Forgive me," she begged. "I am glad to see you at any time. I am afraid I am behaving like the preacher who reproaches the members of his congregation for not doing their duty and attending service on the very Sundays when they have shown up."
But Richard Hunt would not be frivolous.
"Have you wanted to see me?" he asked gravely.
Polly nodded.
"Then why didn't you write or have some one tell me? I would have come across the world if I had known," he replied.
In return Polly shrugged her shoulders. "I did everything I could when we were in Colorado to persuade you to be friends with me again. I behaved without the least pride; I almost begged you to be kind to me. Of course you were very nice then and interested in Bobbin, but I could not go on forever pleading for your friendship. Still I thought at least when you heard I was ill that you might be sorry."
Then to her own complete chagrin Polly felt her eyes filling with tears.
How big and strong and restful Richard Hunt looked! Why had she not had the sense to have married him in the days when he had cared for her? Somehow she believed that her life would have been ever so much happier and more satisfying. She could have gone on with her work too, because no one in the world except Richard Hunt had ever understood how much of her heart was wrapped up in it – perhaps because he was an actor himself and loved his own art.
Notwithstanding, Polly realized that she could scarcely cry before her visitor for his affection, which she had so deliberately thrown away a good many years before. Moreover, what would Mollie think of her bad manners toward their guest?
Slowly she got up from her chair.
"Do come into the house with me and see my sister, Mr. Hunt?" she said graciously. "And you must stay and have lunch with us, or even longer if you will. I am sure my brother-in-law will be more than happy to meet you again."
But Richard Hunt did not stir. "Please sit down again, Polly," he urged more gently. "You don't look strong enough to be walking about alone. I want to explain to you why I have seemed unappreciative of your friendliness. You will have to understand this in the future as well as now, for possibly after today I shall not see you again."
"Oh!" Polly exclaimed a little huskily, and fortunately she could not see how white her own face had turned. However, at this moment her companion was not looking at her.
"I can't be your friend, because I happen still to be too much in love with you for mere friendship," Richard Hunt continued in the quiet, self-contained fashion that had always made so strong an impression upon his companion. "I know that I have had many years to get over this feeling for you, Polly, and that I should not trouble you by mentioning my love again. Only I want you to forgive me and to realize why I may have seemed not to appreciate your wish to be friends."
But Polly was now smiling through her tears and holding out both hands in her old irrepressible Irish fashion that neither the years nor circumstances could change.
"But I don't want to be just friends with you either, Richard, if you are still willing for me to be something more after the way I have behaved," she whispered. "You see I only pretended I wanted to be your friend so you would not give me up altogether."