hair from the braids in which she usually wore
it and permitted the curls to display themselves in all their brown
abundance, especially several dangerous little ones about the temples
and forehead. The putting on of the rescued collar and cuffs was a task
which absorbed her whole mind. So was the settling of a minute bit of
court-plaster just to the left of the dimple in her chin, an unusual
piece of coquetry in which Polly would not have indulged, if an almost
invisible scratch had not given her an excuse for doing it. The white,
down-trimmed cloak, with certain imposing ornaments on the hood,
was assumed with becoming gravity and draped with much advancing and
retreating before the glass, as its wearer practised the true Boston
gait, elbows back, shoulders forward, a bend and a slide, occasionally
varied by a slight skip. But when that bonnet went on, Polly actually
held her breath till it was safely landed and the pink rose bloomed
above the smooth waves of hair with what Fanny called "a ravishing
effect." At this successful stage of affairs Polly found it impossible
to resist the loan of a pair of gold bands for the wrists and Fanny's
white fan with the little mirror in the middle.

"I can put them in my pocket if I feel too much dressed," said Polly
as she snapped on the bracelets, but after a wave or two of the fan she
felt that it would be impossible to take them off till the evening was
over, so enticing was their glitter.

Fanny also lent her a pair of three-button gloves, which completed her
content, and when Tom greeted her with an approving, "Here 's a sight
for gods and men! Why, Polly, you 're gorgeous!" she felt that her "fun"
had decidedly begun.

"Would n't Polly make a lovely bride?" said Maud, who was revolving
about the two girls, trying to decide whether she would have a blue or a
white cloak when she grew up and went to operas.

"Faith, and she would! Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Sydney,"
added Tom, advancing with his wedding-reception bow and a wicked look at
Fanny.

"Go away! How dare you?" cried Polly, growing much redder than her rose.

"If we are going to the opera to-night, perhaps we 'd better start,
as the carriage has been waiting some time," observed Fan coolly, and
sailed out of the room in an unusually lofty manner.

"Don't you like it, Polly?" whispered Tom, as they went down stairs
together.

"Very much."

"The deuce you do!"

"I 'm so fond of music, how can I hel