h an absent air.

"Why, love? Don't you like old Dickybird?" asked Mahony in no small
surprise.

"Oh yes, quite well. But..."

"Is it because he still can't make up his mind to take your Tilly--eh?"

"That, too. But chiefly because of something he said."

"And what was that, my dear?"

"Oh, very silly," and Polly smiled.

"Out with it, madam! Or I shall suspect the young dog of having made
advances to my wife."

"Richard, DEAR!" Little Polly thought he was in earnest, and grew
exceedingly confused. "Oh no, nothing like that," she assured him, and
with red cheeks rushed into an explanation. "He only said, in spite of
you being such old friends he felt you didn't really care to have him
here on Ballarat. After a time you always invented some excuse to get
him away." But now that it was out, Polly felt the need of toning down
the statement, and added: "I shouldn't wonder if he was silly enough to
think you were envious of him, for having so many friends and being
liked by all sorts of people."

"Envious of him? I? Who on earth has been putting such ideas into your
head?" cried Mahony.

"It was 'mother' thought so--it was while I was still there," stammered
Polly, still more fluttered by the fact of him fastening on just these
words.

Mahony tried to quell his irritation by fidgeting round the room.
"Surely, Polly, you might give up calling that woman 'mother,' now you
belong to me--I thank you for the relationship!" he said testily. And
having with much unnecessary ado knocked the ashes out of his pipe, he
went on: "It's bad enough to say things of that kind; but to repeat
them, love, is in even poorer taste."

"Yes, Richard," said Polly meekly.

But her amazed inner query was: "Not even to one's own husband?"

She hung her head, till the white thread of parting between the dark
loops of her hair was almost perpendicular. She had spoken without
thinking in the first place--had just blurted out a passing thought.
But even when forced to explain, she had never dreamt of Richard taking
offence. Rather she had imagined the two of them--two banded lovingly
against one--making merry together over Purdy's nonsense. She had heard
her husband laugh away much unkinder remarks than this. And perhaps if
she had stopped there, and said no more, it might have been all right.
By her stupid attempt to gloss things over, she had really managed to
hurt him, and had made him think her gossipy into the bargain.

She went o