“Nay, sir, I have not heard for this very long while from any of them; and ’tis but seldom we may hope to hear. Letters go astray by hundreds. Doubtless they write, as do we—to no purpose.”
“Ay, ay, trust Boney for that! He’ll not help forward the post. Well, well, every lane in time has its turning; and Boney will come to his turning sooner or later. Nay, indeed, has he not already, at the glorious Battle of Trafalgar, of immortal memory?”
“And on land too, sir; in time our brave soldiers will have the best of it, and will gain the reward that is due to their valour,” suggested Polly.
Captain Peirce’s opportunity was gone; and though Polly did not appear to avoid him, yet he found no second chance. Jack and Molly, looking on, saw this little episode, and they wondered—had the old Admiral acted accidentally or on purpose? And was Polly glad or sorry? Neither question received an answer.
In the small hours of the morning, when dancing was ended, Mrs. Bryce drove home, with the two girls, in the fine yellow coach, which was considered to be a suitable “equipage” for one in her position. Mr. Bryce, having a cold, had not gone with them. The girls retired to their room, and Molly would have liked to question her companion, had she dared. But Polly, with all her sweetness, could hold folks aloof if she chose; and this night she did choose. She was very pale and tired—sad too, Molly thought, now that the excitement was over. Few words passed between them, before they crept into bed.
Was that a sound of smothered weeping? Molly was all but asleep, when it aroused her. She listened carefully.
“Polly!” No answer. “Polly—are you awake?”
Polly’s hand gently pressed hers, but Polly’s face was turned away, and another short break took place before she replied in a tone of strained cheerfulness—
“’Tis far too late. We may not lie and talk now. Go to sleep and dream. No, not one little word more.”
Molly had to obey. Yet she felt sure that soon again she heard the tiny smothered sound which had suggested tears. She lay long, listening. Was Polly thinking of Denham Ivor? Or could it be a question of Captain Peirce?
This side of life went on, and had to go on, even in such a period of stormy unrest, of perpetual warfare between nations. Men and maidens love and mate, work has to be done, hopes rise and sink, even the lesser amusements and gaieties and the small daily occupations of existence do not cease, though the whole world should be at loggerheads.