The Waterbury Democrat., 1938-03-22
CHAPTER XII

Polly Chelsey did not catch the Dover coach next morning because she had fever and headache that prostrated her. After the re- alization that she was deserted by the man she loved and trusted, and for another woman, she went to her room and gave herself up to al- ternate moods of grief and anger which admitted neither reasoning nor forgiveness.
 In the room where she had known happiness and hope, she paced the floor. She did not touch food and she had no desire to sleep. By morning her sensitive, high-strung nature had suffered sufficiently to bring on physical illness, and she flung herself onto her bed, sick in body as well as mind.
 For some days she kept her fever. Mrs. Toby came and minis tered to her, and the porter's boy brought the mongrel dog to see her, and these things she acknoWl- edged with gratitude. But there was no watchful waiting in her prostration for Jerry Whitfield. She was, as she lay there, trying to cure herself of all love for him. fighting to purge her heart of all need of him.
 She told herself over and over, "I've known him such a little while. He can't matter to me like this! How could he?"
 And yet he did. There would come comments when she would bury her head in her pillow to stif1e the cries of "Jerry! Why did you?" Where are you?"
 When this despair had spent it. self like a disease, and when those questions How could you?" Where are you?" could find no clews to feed upon, Polly Chelsey recovered. That is to say, she got up from bed, dressed, ate meal down in the public dining room and inquired after the next coach to Dover. She did all this with mechanical efficiency. Mrs. Toby's kind and sentimental heart was shocked and disappointed. She had thought it so fitting that the de- serted young lady should languish in her room. But this quick and complete recovery!
 Could it have been just some thing she ate?" she inquired of MT. Toby. She's as brash and in- different as you please. Hard, you might say. And she's put on her prettiest dreSS!"
 Well" remarked Mir Toby, "it may be just as well. It looks like young Whitfield's not coming back. It beats all"
 Polly rode on top of the coach with Nuisance. She wondered why she had ever given the little gray terrier that name. He stayed close beside her and entertained her. She sensed his loyalty to her (so much stronger than human loyalty, she told herselD, and his pity. She could not have endured pity from a fellow being, but from Nuisance it semed suitable and comforting.
 Polly could not dwell continu- ally on Jerry's perfidy. She had to plan how to get out of England. Her money would soon be gone; and for all she knew, that terrible old man, Oliver Dart, might be even now looking for her
 "Thank God Jerry didn't take my money!" she prayed devoutly on top of the Dover coach. In that, at least, he had been honor able. He had given it back to her that last night when they were to- gether Did he know at that moment that he was about to desert her. Or did he only fear he might be tempted to? It would hurt a little less to believe the latter.
 She did not know how to find the smuggler whom Jerry had contacted. She did not even know his name. She only knew he was half Scotch and half French" and that he worked out of "a wretched fishing village between Dover and Deal"
 "Its hard" she said to Nuisance. She meant it was terribly difficult for a girl, alone, friendless and American to get across the. Chan mel when England was conducting two wars. Yet that's what Jerry Whitfield had left her to do as