"Didn't you know," exclaimed Polly, "that Mrs. Farrell was a
Briggs! She was my father's sister."

"Then YOU," I said, "are the relation who was 'too high and
mighty'!" Polly shook her head.

"No," she said, "I didn't want to be dependent."

"And you gave up all that," I exclaimed, "and worked at
Hatchardson's, just because you didn't want to be dependent!"

"I like my uncle-in-law very much," explained Polly, "but not my
aunt. So, it was no temptation. No more," she cried, looking at me
as though she were proud of me, "than it was to you."

In guilty haste I changed the subject. In other words, I kissed
her. I knew some day I would have to confess. But until we were
safely married that could wait. Before confessing I would make sure
of her first. The next day we announced our engagement and Polly
consented that it should be a short one. For, as I pointed out,
already she had kept me waiting thirty years. The newspapers dug up
the fact that I had once been a popular novelist, and the pictures
they published of Polly proved her so beautiful that, in
congratulation, I received hundreds of telegrams. The first one to
arrive came from Cape May. It read:

My dear boy, your uncle elect sends his heartiest congratulations
to you and love to Polly. Don't make any plans until you hear from
me--am leaving to-night. FLETCHER FARRELL.