An Old-fashioned Girl, Louisa M. Alcott [best ereader for pdf TXT] 📗

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 thought, 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.


CHAPTER XIII 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