"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, p