An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

tried her plan again, to the satisfaction of her pupils and the great

joy of her friends. She never said much of herself in her letters,

and Fanny’s first exclamation when they met again, was an anxious

“Why, Polly, dear! Have you been sick and never told me?”

“No, I ‘m only tired, had a good deal to do lately, and the dull

weather makes me just a trifle blue. I shall soon brighten up when

I get to my work again,” answered Polly, bustling about to put

away her things.

“You don’t look a bit natural. What have you been doing to your

precious little self?” persisted Fanny, troubled by the change, yet

finding it hard to say wherein it lay.

Polly did not look sick, though her cheeks were thinner and her

color paler than formerly, but she seemed spiritless, and there was

a tired look in her eyes that went to Fanny’s heart.

“I ‘m all right enough, as you ‘ll see when I ‘m in order. I ‘m proper

glad to find you looking so well and happy. Does all go smoothly,

Fan?” asked Polly, beginning to brush her hair industriously.

“Answer me one question first,” said Fanny, looking as if a sudden

fear had come over her. “Tell me, truly, have you never repented

of your hint to Sydney?”

“Never!” cried Polly, throwing back the brown veil behind which

she had half hidden her face at first.

“On your honor, as an honest girl?”

“On my honor, as anything you please. Why do you suspect me of

it?” demanded Polly, almost angrily.

“Because something is wrong with you. It ‘s no use to deny it, for

you ‘ve got the look I used to see in that very glass on my own face

when I thought he cared for you. Forgive me, Polly, but I can’t help

saying it, for it is there, and I want to be as true to you as you were

to me if I can.”

Fanny’s face was full of agitation, and she spoke fast and frankly,

for she was trying to be generous and found it very hard. Polly

understood now and put her fear at rest by saying almost

passionately, “I tell you I don’t love him! If he was the only man in

the world, I would n’t marry him, because I don’t want to.”

The last three words were added in a different tone, for Polly had

checked herself there with a half-frightened look and turned away

to hide her face behind her hair again.

“Then if it ‘s not him, it ‘s some one else. You ‘ve got a secret,

Polly, and I should think you might tell it, as you know mine,” said

Fanny, unable to rest till everything was told, for Polly’s manner

troubled her.

There was no answer to her question, but she was satisfied and

putting her arm round her friend, she said, in her most persuasive

tone, “My precious Polly, do I know him?”

“You have seen him.”

“And is he very wise, good, and splendid, dear?”

“No.”

“He ought to be if you love him. I hope he is n’t bad?” cried Fan,

anxiously, still holding Polly, who kept her head obstinately

turned.

“I ‘m suited, that ‘s enough.”

“Oh, please just tell me one thing more. Don’t he love back again?”

“No. Now don’t say another word, I can’t bear it!” and Polly drew

herself away, as she spoke in a desperate sort of tone.

“I won’t, but now I ‘m not afraid to tell you that I think, I hope, I do

believe that Sydney cares a little for me. He ‘s been very kind to us

all, and lately he has seemed to like to see me always when he

comes and miss me if I ‘m gone. I did n’t dare to hope anything, till

Papa observed something in his manner, and teased me about it. I

try not to deceive myself, but it does seem as if there was a chance

of happiness for me.”

“Thank heaven for that!” cried Polly, with the heartiest satisfaction

in her voice. “Now come and tell me all about it,” she added,