that young lady, hearing of Sydney’s sudden departure, could not
rest till she discovered the cause of it, and walked in upon Polly
one afternoon just when the dusk made it a propitious hour for
tender confidences.
“What have you been doing with yourself lately?” asked Fanny,
composing herself, with her back toward the rapidly waning light.
“Wagging to and fro as usual. What’s the news with you?”
answered Polly, feeling that something was coming and rather glad
to have it over and done with.
“Nothing particular. Trix treats Tom shamefully, and he bears it
like a lamb. I tell him to break his engagement, and not be worried
so; but he won’t, because she has been jilted once and he thinks it
‘s such a mean thing to do.”
“Perhaps she ‘ll jilt him.”
“I ‘ve no doubt she will, if anything better comes along. But Trix is
getting pass,e, and I should n’t wonder if she kept him to his word,
just out of perversity, if nothing else.”
“Poor Tom, what a fate!” said Polly with what was meant to be a
comical groan; but it sounded so tragical that she saw it would n’t
pass, and hastened to hide the failure by saying, with a laugh, “If
you call Trix pass,e at twenty-three, what shall we all be at
twenty-five?” “Utterly done with, and laid upon the shelf. I feel so
already, for I don’t get half the attention I used to have, and the
other night I heard Maud and Grace wondering why those old girls
‘did n’t stay at home, and give them a chance.’ ”
“How is Maudie?”
“Pretty well, but she worries me by her queer tastes and notions.
She loves to go into the kitchen and mess, she hates to study, and
said right before the Vincents that she should think it would be
great fun to be a beggar-girl, to go round with a basket, it must be
so interesting to see what you ‘d get.”
“Minnie said the other day she wished she was a pigeon so she
could paddle in the puddles and not fuss about rubbers.”
“By the way, when is her uncle coming back?” asked Fanny, who
could n’t wait any longer and joyfully seized the opening Polly
made for her.
“I ‘m sure I don’t know.”
“Nor care, I suppose, you hard-hearted thing.”
“Why, Fan, what do you mean?”
“I ‘m not blind, my dear, neither is Tom, and when a young
gentleman cuts a call abruptly short, and races after a young lady,
and is seen holding her hand at the quietest corner of the park, and
then goes travelling all of a sudden, we know what it means if you
don’t.”
“Who got up that nice idea, I should like to know?” demanded
Polly, as Fanny stopped for breath.
“Now don’t be affected, Polly, but just tell me, like a dear, has n’t
he proposed?”
“No, he has n’t.”
“Don’t you think he means to?”
“I don’t think he ‘ll ever say a word to me.”
“Well, I am surprised!” And Fanny drew a long breath, as if a load
was off her mind. Then she added in a changed tone: “But don’t
you love him, Polly?”
“No.”
“Truly?”
“Truly, Fan.”
Neither spoke for a minute, but the heart of one of them beat
joyfully and the dusk hid a very happy face.
“Don’t you think he cared for you, dear?” asked Fanny, presently. “I
don’t mean to be prying, but I really thought he did.”
“That ‘s not for me to say, but if it is so, it ‘s only a passing fancy
and he ‘ll soon get over it.”
“Do tell me all about it; I ‘m so interested, and I know something
has happened, I hear it in your voice, for I can’t see your face.”
“Do you remember the talk we once had after reading one of Miss
Edgeworth’s stories about not letting one’s lovers come to a
declaration if one did n’t love them?”
“Yes.”
“And you girls said it was n’t proper, and I said it was honest,
anyway. Well, I always meant to try it if I got a chance, and I have.