used to speculate.
Difficult to say. He was much taken up with scientific interests; keen,
intent, and somewhat oppugnant in what concerned his favourite
pursuits, but unsuspicious and trustful in the ordinary affairs of
life. From all I could gather, he seemed to regard his "daughterling"
as still but a child, and probably had not yet admitted the notion that
others might look on her in a different light: he would speak of what
should be done when "Polly" was a woman, when she should be grown up;
and "Polly," standing beside his chair, would sometimes smile and take
his honoured head between her little hands, and kiss his iron-grey
locks; and, at other times, she would pout and toss her curls: but she
never said, "Papa, I _am_ grown up."

She had different moods for different people. With her father she
really was still a child, or child-like, affectionate, merry, and
playful. With me she was serious, and as womanly as thought and feeling
could make her. With Mrs. Bretton she was docile and reliant, but not
expansive. With Graham she was shy, at present very shy; at moments she
tried to be cold; on occasion she endeavoured to shun him. His step
made her start; his entrance hushed her; when he spoke, her answers
failed of fluency; when he took leave, she remained self-vexed and
disconcerted. Even her father noticed this demeanour in her.

"My little Polly," he said once, "you live too retired a life; if you
grow to be a woman with these shy manners, you will hardly be fitted
for society. You really make quite a stranger of Dr. Bretton: how is
this? Don't you remember that, as a little girl, you used to be rather
partial to him?"

"_Rather_, papa," echoed she, with her slightly dry, yet gentle and
simple tone.

"And you don't like him now? What has he done?"

"Nothing. Y--e--s, I like him a little; but we are grown strange to
each other."

"Then rub it off, Polly; rub the rust and the strangeness off. Talk
away when he is here, and have no fear of him?"

"_He_ does not talk much. Is he afraid of me, do you think, papa?"

"Oh, to be sure, what man would not be afraid of such a little silent
lady?"

"Then tell him some day not to mind my being silent. Say that it is my
way, and that I have no unfriendly intention."

"Your way, you little chatter-box? So far from being your way, it is
only your whim!"

"Well, I'll improve, papa."

And very pretty was the grace with which, the next day, she tried to
keep he