But the winter ran away, one cold, wet week succeeding another, and
still they were apart. Mahony urged and pleaded, but could not get Polly
to name the wedding-day. He began to think pressure was being brought to
bear on the girl from another side. Naturally the Beamishes were
reluctant to let her go: who would be so useful to them as Polly?--who
undertake, without scorn, the education of the whilom shepherd's
daughters? Still, they knew they had to lose her, and he could not see
that it made things any easier for them to put off the evil day. No,
there was something else at the bottom of it; though he did not know
what. Then one evening, pondering a letter of Polly's, he slapped his
forehead and exclaimed aloud at his own stupidity. That night, into his
reply he slipped four five-pound notes. JUST TO BUY YOURSELF ANY LITTLE
THING YOU FANCY, DEAREST. IF I CHOSE A GIFT, I MIGHT SEND WHAT WOULD NOT
BE ACCEPTABLE TO YOU. Yes, sure enough, that was it--little Polly had
been in straits for money: the next news he heard was that she had
bought and was stitching her wedding-gown. Taxed with her need, Polly
guiltily admitted that her salary for the past three months was owing to
her. But there had been great expenses in connection with the hotel; and
Mr. B. had had an accident to his leg. From what she wrote, though,
Mahony saw that it was not the first time such remissness had occurred;
and he felt grimly indignant with her employers.
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