» Illustrated by By
™ Henrietta McCaig Starrett - FLORIA HOWE BRUESS
“We’ll make a good-looking couple. I'm
dark and Ted is fair, you know, and I'm
tall. I need a tall man. Then, too. Ted
does everything Just a little better than
any one else. He has everything except
money and I can surely supply that. I
have money —and plenty. In my own
right, you know."
Polly made an effort, found her voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me last night when
we talked in your room?” She listened
Intently to her voice. It was natural.
"I wasn't engaged then,” Marcia 'a
amused eyes met Polly’s. “It certainly
was an unique proposal This morning
after breakfast Ted slipped a sheet of
paper in my hand. It was a pencil draw
ing of a bride and groom standing at an
altar before a minister In robes. And
underneath Ted had written:
“You and I. How about It?"
Marcia laughed. “Lika Ted. Isn’t it?
I told him I'd take a chance."
Polly said something— she did not know
what, for she was watching love and
happiness close like a steel door In her
face. What she said must have been
right, however, for Marcia laughed and
said: “You’re to be one of my brides
maids, Polly."
And then Marcia was gone and Polly
was alone to look this thing in the face.
Ted had never said he loved her, and
what did a kiss, stolen in the dark,
mean? “Not a thing.”
SHE wore her other dinner dress that
night, a lovely clinging thing of black
velvet. As she slipped (t over her head
she said aloud, voice bright and brittle.
“In mourning for lost love."
When she entered the living room Ted
brought her cocktail to her. At sight of
that beloved face the pain she thought
she had burled deep was upon her, tear
ing at her heart like claws.
Ted touched her glass with his. "To
you, Polly,” he said in a singularly still
voice. He drained his glass and turned
away Just as her long lashes flecked with
bronze lifted. A moment later he stood
beside Marcia and Polly heard their
laughter.
Dinner was announced. The evening
passed with bridge. It wasn’t so hard,
Polly thought. But as she undressed that
night a white, drained face looked back
at her from the mirror.
The party broke into different amuse
ments the following morning. Ted, Mar
cia. Ken and Polly decided to ski.
Polly would take last turn at the hill,
for she wanted to watch the others— she
had not played at the sport for several
Winters. She must get the hang of It,
for there would be no more chances this
year. 4
The Others stood st the foot of the hill
watching the little figure skim down the
hill ilk# a bird of brilliant plumagp. She
was coming along fine when aoriiething
; ■»' r .IHp Bp jjtjjf |g 1
sjßiik * . " v *
LOVE IN BUD
Polly Was a
"Business Gal"
*
Until She Found
the Man Who
Could Write
I
"Love" Across
Her Heart
P)LLY stood on the station platform
gazing at the line of motors drawn
up to meet the train. Which one, she
wondered, would be Marcia’s?
The train gave a snort and, with a pro- ,
dlgious puffing, slid away from the sta
tion. The other passengers were moving
in gay, chattering groups to the motors
that awaited them. Had Marcia for
gotten her?
"Here you are!" hailed a voice that had
a laugh tucked In its depths. “I’ve been
running my legs off looking for you.
When Marcia said you were a half-pint
she meant it. You were swallowed up
in that crowd.”
Ted Brooks paused from sheer lack of
breath. His fiery-blue eyes twinkled at
Polly, who was staring In complete and
swift fascination at the bright blond
head, shining hatless In the bright and
friendly sun.
"How do you know I’m Polly Ayers?”
she wanted to know
"Bronze hair " he looked at the
wing of hair over her right ear, “gorgeous
brown eyes —I'd add something to that If
I were a poet —sassy little nose, Ups to
remember. And don’t forget, five feet of
- well—Marcia almost did you Justice.
No cat in Marcia.”
Polly's laugh fell like notes from a
cello. Ted grasped her suitcase, touched
his cap like a chauffeur, said: "This way,
Miss.’’
He tossed her case In the nimble,
tucked her beside him and whirled away •
from the station.
sent me— her good deed for
• th«> day. The bunch are skating. Last
fling of Old Man Winter, 'who Is pacing
us a belated visit. I'm orient her guests.
« Answer to the name of Edward BrooJK—
*ed. to you.” He shot a swift smllt at