acts. And
a charming young woman who seeks facts rather than attention will never
lack either. But of all the facts Polly collected, the one of
surpassing interest, and which gave her the greatest happiness, was
that she could not live without Sam Lowell. She had suspected this,
and it was partly to make sure that she had consented to the trip round
the world. Now that she had made sure, she could not too soon make up
for the days lost. Sam had spent his money, and he either must return
to New York and earn more or remain near Polly and starve. It was an
embarrassing choice. Polly herself made the choice even more difficult.

One morning when they walked in St. James's Park to feed the ducks she
said to him:

"Sam, when are we to be married?"

When for three years a man has been begging a girl to marry him, and
she consents at the exact moment when, without capitulation to all that
he holds honorable, he cannot marry anybody, his position deserves
sympathy.

"My dear one," exclaimed the unhappy youth, "you make me the most
miserable of men! I can't marry! I'm in an awful place! If I married
you now I'd be a crook! It isn't a question of love in a cottage, with
bread and cheese. If cottages were renting for a dollar a year I
couldn't rent one for ten minutes. I haven't cheese enough to bait a
mouse-trap. It's terrible! But we have got to wait."

"Wait!" cried Polly. "I thought you had been waiting! Have I been away
too long? Do you love some one else?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Sam crossly. "Look at me," he commanded,
"and tell me whom I love!"

Polly did not take time to look.

"But I," she protested, "have so much money!"

"It's not your money," explained Sam. "It's your mother's money or
your father's, and both of them dislike me. They even have told me so.
Your mother wants you to marry that Italian; and your father, having
half the money in America, naturally wants to marry you to the other
half. If I were selfish and married you I'd be all the things they
think I am."

"You are selfish!" cried Polly. "You're thinking of yourself and of
what people will say, instead of how to make me happy. What's the use
of money if you can't buy what you want?"

"Are you suggesting you can buy me?" demanded Sam.

"Surely," said Polly--"if I can't get you any other way. And you may
name your own price, too."

"When I am making enough to support myself without sponging on you,"
explained Sam, "