"Now I like the acting best. The music is all very fine, I know, but it does seem so absurd for people to go round telling tremendous secrets at the top of their voices. I can't get used to it."
"That 's because you 've more common-sense than romance. I don't mind the absurdity, and quite long to go and comfort that poor girl with the broken heart," said Polly with a sigh as the curtain fell on a most affecting tableau.
"What's-his-name is a great jack not to see that she adores him. In real life we fellows ain't such bats as all that," observed Tom, who had decided opinions on many subjects that he knew very little about, and expressed them with great candor.
A curious smile passed over Polly's face and she put up her glass to hide her eyes, as she said: "I think you are bats sometimes, but women are taught to wear masks, and that accounts for it, I suppose."
"I don't agree. There 's precious little masking nowadays; wish there was a little more sometimes," added Tom, thinking of several blooming damsels whose beseeching eyes had begged him not to leave them to wither on the parent stem.
"I hope not, but I guess there 's a good deal more than any one would suspect."
"What can you know about broken hearts and blighted beings?" asked Sydney, smiling at the girl's pensive tone.
Polly glanced up at him and her face dimpled and shone again, as she answered, laughing: "Not much; my time is to come."
"I can't imagine you walking about the world with your back hair down, bewailing a hard-hearted lover," said Tom.
"Neither can I. That would n't be my way."
"No; Miss Polly would let concealment prey on her damask cheeks and still smile on in the novel fashion, or turn sister of charity and nurse the heartless lover through small-pox, or some other contagious disease, and die seraphically, leaving him to the agonies of remorse and tardy love."
Polly gave Sydney an indignant look as he said that in a slow satirical way that nettled her very much, for she hated to be thought sentimental.
"That 's not my way either," she said decidedly. "I 'd try to outlive it, and if I could n't, I 'd try to be the better for it. Disappointment need n't make a woman a fool."
"Nor an old maid, if she 's pretty and good. Remember that, and don't visit the sins of one blockhead on all the rest of mankind," said Tom, laughing at her earnestness.
"I don't think there is the slightest possibility of Miss Polly's being either," added Sydney with a look which made it evident that concealment had not seriously damaged Polly's damask cheek as yet.
"There 's Clara Bird. I have n't seen her but once since she was married. How pretty she looks!" and Polly retired behind the big glass again, thinking the chat was becoming rather personal.
"Now, there 's a girl who tried a different cure for unrequited affection from any you mention. People say she was fond of Belle's brother. He did n't reciprocate but went off to India to spoil his constitution, so Clara married a man twenty years older than she is and consoles herself by being the best-dressed woman in the city."
"That accounts for it," said Polly, when Tom's long whisper ended.
"For what?"
"The tired look in her eyes."
"I don't see it," said Tom, after a survey through the glass.
"Did n't expect you would."
"I see what you mean. A good many women have it nowadays," said Sydney over Polly's shoulder.
"What's she tired of? The old gentleman?" asked Tom.
"And herself," added Polly.
"You 've been reading French novels, I know you have. That 's just the way the heroines go on," cried Tom.
"I have n't read one, but it 's evident you have, young man, and you 'd better stop."
"I don't care for 'em; only do it to keep up my French. But how came you to be so wise, ma'am?"
"Observation, sir. I like to watch faces, and I seldom see a grown-up one that looks perfectly happy."
"True for you, Polly; no more you do, now I think of it. I don't know but one that always looks so, and there it is."
"Where?" asked Polly, with interest.
"Look straight before you and you 'll see it."
Polly did look, but all she saw was her own face in the little mirror of the fan which Tom held up and peeped over with a laugh in his eyes.
"Do I look happy? I 'm glad of that," And Polly surveyed herself with care.
Both young men thought it was girlish vanity and smiled at its naive display, but Polly was looking for something deeper than beauty and was glad not to find it.
"Rather a pleasant little prospect, hey, Polly?"
"My bonnet is straight, and that 's all I care about. Did you ever see a picture of Beau Brummel?" asked Polly quickly.
"No."
"Well, there he is, modernized." And turning the fan, she showed him himself.
"Any more portraits in your gallery?" asked Sydney, as if he liked to share all the nonsense going.
"One more."
"What do you call it?"
"The portrait of a gentleman." And the little glass reflected a gratified face for the space of two seconds.
"Thank you. I 'm glad I don't disgrace my name," said Sydney, looking down into the merry blue eyes that thanked him silently for many of the small kindnesses that women never can forget.
"Very good, Polly, you are getting on fast," whispered Tom, patting his yellow kids approvingly.
"Be quiet! Dear me, how warm it is!" And Polly gave him a frown that delighted his soul.
"Come out and have an ice, we shall have time."
"Fan is so absorbed, I could n't think of disturbing her," said Polly, fancying that her friend was enjoying the evening as much as she was a great mistake, by the way, for Fan was acting for effect, and though she longed to turn and join them, would n't do it, unless a certain person showed signs of missing her. He did n't, and Fanny chatted on, raging inwardly over her disappointment, and wondering how Polly could be so gay and selfish.
It was delicious to see the little airs Polly put on, for she felt as if she were somebody else, and acting a part. She leaned back, as if quite oppressed by the heat, permitted Sydney to fan her, and paid him for the service by giving him a flower from her bouquet, proceedings which amused Tom immensely, even while it piqued him a little to be treated like an old friend who did n't count.
"Go in and win, Polly; I 'll give you my blessing," he whispered, as the curtain rose again.
"It 's only part of the fun, so don't you laugh, you disrespectful boy," she whispered back in a tone never used toward Sydney.
Tom did n't quite like the different way in which she treated them, and the word "boy"
disturbed his dignity, for he was almost twenty-one and Polly ought to treat him with more respect. Sydney at the same moment was wishing he was in Tom's place young, comely, and such a familiar friend that Polly would scold and lecture him in the delightful way she did Tom; while Polly forgot them both when the music began and left them ample time to look at her and think about themselves.
While they waited to get out when all was over Polly heard Fan whisper to Tom: "What do you think Trix will say to this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, the way you 've been going on to-night."
"Don't know, and don't care; it 's only Polly."
"That 's the very thing. She can't bear P."
"Well, I can; and I don't see why I should n't enjoy myself as well as Trix."
"You 'll get to enjoying yourself too much if you are n't careful. Polly 's waked up."
"I 'm glad of it, and so 's Syd."
"I only spoke for your good."
"Don't trouble yourself about me; I get lecturing enough in another quarter and can't stand any more. Come, Polly."
She took the arm he offered her, but her heart was sore and angry, for that phrase, "It 's only Polly," hurt her sadly. "As if I was n't anybody, had n't any feelings, and was only made to amuse or work for people! Fan and Tom are both mistaken and I 'll show them that Polly is awake," she tho
ught, indignantly. "Why should n't I enjoy myself as well as the rest? Besides, it 's only Tom," she added with a bitter smile as she thought of Trix.
"Are you tired, Polly?" asked Tom, bending down to look into her face.
"Yes, of being nobody."
"Ah, but you ain't nobody, you 're Polly, and you could n't better that if you tried ever so hard." said Tom, warmly, for he really was fond of Polly, and felt uncommonly so just then.
"I 'm glad you think so, anyway. It 's so pleasant to be liked." And she looked up with her face quite bright again.
"I always did like you, don't you know, ever since that first visit."
"But you teased me shamefully, for all that."
"So I did, but I don't now."
Polly did not answer, and Tom asked, with more anxiety than the occasion required: "Do I, Polly?"
"Not in the same way, Tom," she answered in a tone that did n't sound quite natural.
"Well, I never will again."
"Yes, you will, you can't help it." And Polly's eye glanced at Sydney, who was in front with Fan.
Tom laughed, and drew Polly closer as the crowd pressed, saying, with mock tenderness: "Did n't she like to be chaffed about her sweethearts? Well, she shan't be if I can help it. Poor dear, did she get her little bonnet knocked into a cocked hat and her little temper riled at the same time?"
Polly could n't help laughing, and, in spite of the crush, enjoyed the slow journey from seat to carriage, for Tom took such excellent care of her, she was rather sorry when it was over.
They had a merry little supper after they got home, and Polly gave them a burlesque opera that convulsed her hearers, for her spirits rose again and she was determined to get the last drop of fun before she went back to her humdrum life again.
"I 've had a regularly splendid time, and thank you ever so much," she said when the
"good-nights" were being exchanged.
"So have I. Let 's go and do it again to-morrow," said Tom, holding the hand from which he had helped to pull a refractory glove.
"Not for a long while, please. Too much pleasure would soon spoil me," answered Polly, shaking her head.
"I don't believe it. Good-night, 'sweet Mistress Milton,' as Syd called you. Sleep like an angel, and don't dream of I forgot, no teasing allowed." And Tom took himself off with a theatrical farewell.
"Now it 's all over and done with," thought Polly as she fell asleep after a long vigil. But it was not, and Polly's fun cost more than the price of gloves and bonnet, for, having nibbled at forbidden fruit, she had to pay the penalty. She only meant to have a good time, and there was no harm in that, but unfortunately she yielded to the various small temptations that beset pretty young girls and did more mischief to others than to herself.
Fanny's friendship grew cooler after that night. Tom kept wishing Trix was half as satisfactory as Polly, and Mr. Sydney began to build castles that had no foundation.
13. The Sunny Side
"I 'VE won the wager, Tom."
"Did n't know there was one."
"Don't you remember you said Polly would be tired of her teaching and give it up in three months, and I said she would n't?"
"Well, is n't she?"
"Not a bit of it. I thought she was at one time, and expected every day to have her come in with a long face, and say she could n't stand it. But somehow, lately, she is always bright and happy, seems to like her work, and don't have the tired, worried look she used to at first. The three months are out, so pay up, Tommy."
"All right, what will you have?"
"You may make it gloves. I always need them, and papa looks sober when I want money."
There was a minute's pause as Fan returned to her practising, and Tom relapsed into the reverie he was enjoying seated astride of a chair, with his chin on his folded arms.
"Seems to me Polly don't come here as often as she used to," he said, presently.
"No, she seems to be very busy; got some new friends, I believe, old ladies, sewing-girls, and things of that sort. I miss her, but know she 'll get tired of being goody, and will come back to me before long."
"Don't be too sure of that, ma'am." Something in Tom's tone made Fan turn round, and ask, "What do you mean?"
"Well, it strikes me that Sydney is one of Polly's new friends. Have n't you observed that she is uncommonly jolly, and don't that sort of thing account for it?"
"Nonsense!" said Fanny, sharply.
"Hope it is," coolly returned Tom.
"What put it into your head?" demanded Fanny, twirling round again so that her face was hidden.
"Oh, well, I keep meeting Syd and Polly circulating in the same directions; she looks as if she had found something uncommonly nice, and he looks as if all creation was getting Pollyfied pretty rapidly. Wonder you have n't observed it."
"I have."
It was Tom's turn to look surprised now, for Fanny's voice sounded strange to him. He looked at her steadily for a minute, but saw only a rosy ear and a bent head. A cloud passed over his face, and he leaned his chin on his arm again with a despondent whistle, as he said to himself, "Poor Fan! Both of us in a scrape at once."
"Don't you think it would be a good thing?" asked Fanny, after playing a bar or two, very badly.
"Yes, for Syd."
"Not for Polly? Why, he 's rich, and clever, and better than most of you good-for-nothing fellows. What can the girl expect?"
"Can't say, but I don't fancy the match myself."
"Don't be a dog in the manger, Tom." "Bless your little heart, I only take a brotherly sort of interest in Polly. She 's a capital girl, and she ought to marry a missionary, or one of your reformer fellows, and be a shining light of some sort. I don't think setting up for a fine lady would suit her."
"I think it would, and I hope she 'll have the chance," said Fanny, evidently making an effort to speak kindly.
"Good for you, Fan!" and Tom gave an emphatic nod, as if her words meant more than she suspected "Mind you," he added, "I don't know anything, and only fancied there might be some little flirtation going on. But I dare say it 's nothing."
"Time will show." Then Fan began to sing, and Tom's horse came, so he departed with the very unusual demonstration of a gentle pat on the head, as he said kindly, "That 's right, my dear, keep jolly." It was n't an elegant way of expressing sympathy, but it was hearty, and Fan thanked him for it, though she only said, "Don't break your neck, Tommy."
When he was gone, Fan's song ended as suddenly as it began, and she sat thinking, with varying expressions of doubt and trouble passing rapidly across her face.
"Well, I can't do anything but wait!" she said, at last, slamming the music-book together with a desperate look. "Yes, I can," she added, a minute after, "it 's Polly's holiday. I can go and see her, and if there is anything in it I shall find it out."
Fanny dropped her face into her hands, with a little shiver, as she said that; then got up, looking as pale and resolute as if going to meet some dreadful doom, and putting on her things, went away to Polly's as fast as her dignity would allow.
Saturday morning was Polly's clearing-up day, and Fan found her with a handkerchief tied over her head, and a big apron on, just putting the last touches to the tidy little room, which was as fresh and bright as water, air, and a pair of hands could make it.
"All ready for company. I 'll just whisk off my regimentals, and Polly, the maid, becomes Polly, the missis. It was lovely of you to come early; take off your things. Another new bonnet? you extravagant wretch! How is your mother and Maudie? It 's a nice day, and we 'll have a walk, won't we?"
By the time Polly's welcome was uttered, she had got Fan on the little sofa beside her, and was smiling at her in such an infectious manner, that Fan could n't help smiling back.
"I came to see what you have been doing with yourself lately. You don't come and report, and I got anxious about you," said Fanny, looking into the clear eyes before her.
"I 've been so busy; and I knew you would
n't care to hear about my doings, for they are n't the sort you like," answered Polly.
"Your lessons did n't use to take up all your time. It 's my private opinion that you are taking as well as giving lessons, miss," said Fan, putting on a playfully stern air, to hide her real anxiety.
"Yes, I am," answered Polly, soberly.
"In what? Love?"
A quick color came to Polly's cheeks, as she laughed, and said, looking away, "No; friendship and good works."
"Oh, indeed! May I ask who is your teacher?"
"I 've more than one; but Miss Mills is head teacher."
"She instructs in good works; who gives the friendship lessons?"
"Such pleasant girls! I wish you knew them, Fan. So clever, and energetic, and kind, and happy, it always does me good to see them," cried Polly, with a face full of enthusiasm.
"Is that all?" And Fan gave her a curious look of mingled disappointment and relief.
"There, I told you my doings would not interest you, and they don't; they sound flat and prosy after your brilliant adventures. Let 's change the subject," said Polly, looking relieved herself.
"Dear me, which of our sweethearts sends us dainty bouquets of violets so early in the morning?" asked Fanny, suddenly spying the purple cluster in a graceful little vase on the piano.
"He sends me one every week; he knows I love them so," and Polly's eyes turned that way full of pride and pleasure.
"I 'd no idea he was so devoted," said Fanny, stooping to smell the flowers, and at the same time read a card that lay near them.
"You need n't plague me about it, now you know it. I never speak of our fondness for one another, because such things seem silly to other people. Will is n't all that Jimmy was to me; but he tries to be, and I love him dearly for it."
"Will?" Fanny's voice quite startled Polly, it was so sharp and sudden, and her face grew red and pale all in a minute, as she upset the little vase with the start she gave.
"Yes, of course; who did you think I meant?" asked Polly, sopping up the water before it damaged her piano.
"Never mind; I thought you might be having a quiet little flirtation with somebody. I feel responsible, you know, because I told your mother I 'd look after you. The flowers are all right. My head aches so, I hardly know what I 'm doing this morning."
An Old-Fashioned Girl Page 20
