onnet!'

'Who was the somebody?'

'He's a Mr. Nicholas Frim, sir.'

'Mr. Nicholas Frim will be very unhappy, I should think.'

'Yes, that's one comfort,' said Polly ruefully, drying her eyes.

Closely surrounding a young man as a young woman must be when both are
on the same horse, they, as a rule, talk confidentially together in a
very short time. His 'Are you cold?' when Polly shivered, and her 'Oh,
no; not very,' and a slight screwing of her body up to him, as she
spoke, to assure him and herself of it, soon made them intimate.

'I think Mr. Nicholas Frim mustn't see us riding into Beckley,' said
Evan.

'Oh, my gracious! Ought I to get down, sir?' Polly made no move,
however.

'Is he jealous?'

'Only when I make him, he is.'

'That's very naughty of you.'

'Yes, I know it is--all the Wheedles are. Mother says, we never go right
till we 've once got in a pickle.'

'You ought to go right from this hour,' said Evan.

'It's 'dizenzy--[?? D.W.]--does it,' said Polly. 'And then we're ashamed
to show it. My poor Susan went to stay with her aunt at Bodley, and then
at our cousin's at Hillford, and then she was off to Lymport to drown
her poor self, I do believe, when you met her. And all because we can't
bear to be seen when we 're in any of our pickles. I wish you wouldn't
look at me, Mr. Harrington.'

'You look very pretty.'

'It 's quite impossible I can now,' said Polly, with a wretched effort
to spread open her collar. 'I can see myself a fright, like my Miss Rose
did, making a face in the looking-glass when I was undressing her
last night. But, do you know, I would much rather Nicholas saw us than
somebody!

'Who's that?'

'Miss Bonner. She'd never forgive me.'

'Is she so strict?'

'She only uses servants for spies,' said Polly. 'And since my Miss Rose
come--though I'm up a step--I'm still a servant, and Miss Bonner 'd
be in a fury to see my--though I'm sure we're quite respectable, Mr.
Harrington--my having hold of you as I'm obliged to, and can't help
myself. But she'd say I ought to tumble off rather than touch her
engaged with a little finger.'

'Her engaged?' cried Evan.

'Ain't you, sir?' quoth Polly. 'I understand you were going to be, from
my lady, the Countess. We all think so at Beckley. Why, look how Miss
Bonner looks at you, and she's sure to have plenty of money.'

This was Polly's innocent way of bringing out a word about her own young
mistress.

Evan controlled any denia