On Monday, Polly began the “delicate and dangerous task.” Instead
of going to her pupils by way of the park and the pleasant streets
adjoining, she took a roundabout route through back streets, and
thus escaped Mr. Sydney, who, as usual, came home to dinner very
early that day and looked disappointed because he nowhere saw
the bright face in the modest bonnet. Polly kept this up for a week,
and by carefully avoiding the Shaws’ house during calling hours,
she saw nothing of Mr. Sydney, who, of course, did n’t visit her at
Miss Mills’. Minnie happened to be poorly that week and took no
lesson, so Uncle Syd was deprived of his last hope, and looked as
if his allowance of sunshine had been suddenly cut off.
Now, as Polly was by no means a perfect creature, I am free to
confess that the old temptation assailed her more than once that
week, for, when the first excitement of the dodging reform had
subsided, she missed the pleasant little interviews that used to put
a certain flavor of romance into her dull, hard-working days. She
liked Mr. Sydney very much, for he had always been kind and
friendly since the early times when he had treated the little girl
with a courtesy which the young woman gratefully remembered. I
don’t think it was his wealth, accomplishments, or position that
most attracted Polly, though these doubtless possessed a greater
influence than she suspected. It was that indescribable something
which women are quick to see and feel in men who have been
blessed with wise and good mothers. This had an especial charm to
Polly, for she soon found that this side of his character was not
shown to every one. With most girls, he was very like the other
young men of his set, except perhaps in a certain grace of manner
which was as natural to him as his respect for all womankind. But
with Fanny and Polly he showed the domestic traits and virtues
which are more engaging to womanly women than any amount of
cool intellect or worldly wisdom.
Polly had seen a good deal of him during her visits at the Shaws’,
where he was intimate, owing to the friendship between Madam
and his mother; but she had never thought of him as a possible
lover for either Fanny or herself because he was six or eight years
older than they, and still sometimes assumed the part of a
venerable mentor, as in the early days. Lately this had changed,
especially towards Polly, and it flattered her more than she would
confess even to herself. She knew he admired her one talent,
respected her independence, and enjoyed her society; but when
something warmer and more flattering than admiration, respect, or
pleasure crept into his manner, she could not help seeing that one
of the good gifts of this life was daily coming more and more
within her reach, and began to ask herself if she could honestly
receive the gift, and reward the giver.
At first she tried to think she could, but unfortunately hearts are so
“contrary” that they won’t be obedient to reason, will, or even
gratitude. Polly felt a very cordial friendship for Mr. Sydney, but
not one particle of the love which is the only coin in which love
can be truly paid. Then she took a fancy into her head that she
ought to accept this piece of good fortune for the sake of the
family, and forget herself. But this false idea of self-sacrifice did
not satisfy, for she was not a fashionable girl trained to believe that
her first duty was to make “a good match” and never mind the
consequences, though they rendered her miserable for life. Polly’s
creed was very simple: “If I don’t love him, I ought not to marry
him, especially when I do love somebody else, though everything
is against me.” If she had read as many French novels as some
young ladies, she might have considered it interesting to marry
under the circumstances and suffer a secret anguish to make her a
romantic victim. But Polly’s education had been neglected, and
after a good deal of natural indecision she did what most women