her breath, with a look over her shoulder to be sure no one heard it.
“It ‘s a pretty name, but rather too fine, and I should n’t dare to say
‘Syd,’ as his sister does. I like short, plain, home-like names, such
as Will, Ned, or Tom. No, no, I can never care for him, and it ‘s no
use to try!” The exclamation broke from Polly as if a sudden
trouble had seized her, and laying her head down on her knees, she
sat motionless for many minutes.
When she looked up, her face wore an expression which no one
had ever seen on it before; a look of mingled pain and patience, as
if some loss had come to her, and left the bitterness of regret
behind.
“I won’t think of myself, or try to mend one mistake by making
another,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I ‘ll do what I can for Fan,
and not stand between her and a chance of happiness. Let me see,
how can I begin? I won’t walk with him any more; I ‘ll dodge and
go roundabout ways, so that we can’t meet. I never had much faith
in the remarkable coincidence of his always happening home to
dinner just as I go to give the Roths their lesson. The fact is, I like
to meet him, I am glad to be seen with him, and put on airs, I dare
say, like a vain goose as I am. Well, I won’t do it any more, and
that will spare Fan one affliction. Poor dear, how I must have
worried her all this time, and never guessed it. She has n’t been
quite as kind as ever; but when she got sharp, I fancied it was
dyspepsia. Oh, me! I wish the other trouble could be cured as
easily as this.”
Here puss showed an amiable desire to forgive and forget, and
Polly took her up, saying aloud: “Puttel, when missis abuses you,
play it ‘s dyspepsia, and don’t bear malice, because it ‘s a very
trying disease, my dear.”
Then, going back to her thoughts, she rambled on again; “If he
does n’t take that hint, I will give him a stronger one, for I will not
have matters come to a crisis, though I can’t deny that my wicked
vanity strongly tempts me to try and ‘bag a bird’ just for the
excitement and credit of the thing. Polly, I ‘m ashamed of you!
What would your blessed mother say to hear such expressions
from you? I ‘d write and tell her all the worry, only it would n’t do
any good, and would only trouble her. I ‘ve no right to tell Fan’s
secrets, and I ‘m ashamed to tell mine. No, I ‘ll leave mother in
peace, and fight it out alone. I do think Fan would suit him
excellently by and by. He has known her all her life, and has a
good influence over her. Love would do so much toward making
her what she might be; it ‘s a shame to have the chance lost just
because he happens to see me. I should think she ‘d hate me; but I
‘ll show her that she need n’t, and do all I can to help her; for she
has been so good to me nothing shall ever make me forget that. It
is a delicate and dangerous task, but I guess I can manage it; at any
rate I ‘ll try, and have nothing to reproach myself with if things do
go ‘contrary.’ ”
What Polly thought of, as she lay back in her chair, with her eyes
shut, and a hopeless look on her face, is none of our business,
though we might feel a wish to know what caused a tear to gather
slowly from time to time under her lashes, and roll down on
Puttel’s Quaker-colored coat. Was it regret for the conquest she
relinquished, was it sympathy for her friend, or was it an
uncontrollable overflow of feeling as she read some sad or tender
passage of the little romance which she kept hidden away in her
own heart?