ther say to hear such expressions from you? I 'd write and tell her
all the worry, only it would n't do any good, and would only trouble
her. I 've no right to tell Fan's secrets, and I 'm ashamed to tell
mine. No, I 'll leave mother in peace, and fight it out alone. I do
think Fan would suit him excellently by and by. He has known her all her
life, and has a good influence over her. Love would do so much toward
making her what she might be; it 's a shame to have the chance lost just
because he happens to see me. I should think she 'd hate me; but I 'll
show her that she need n't, and do all I can to help her; for she has
been so good to me nothing shall ever make me forget that. It is a
delicate and dangerous task, but I guess I can manage it; at any rate
I 'll try, and have nothing to reproach myself with if things do go
'contrary.'"
What Polly thought of, as she lay back in her chair, with her eyes shut,
and a hopeless look on her face, is none of our business, though we
might feel a wish to know what caused a tear to gather slowly from time
to time under her lashes, and roll down on Puttel's Quaker-colored coat.
Was it regret for the conquest she relinquished, was it sympathy for her
friend, or was it an uncontrollable overflow of feeling as she read some
sad or tender passage of the little romance which she kept hidden away
in her own heart?
On Monday, Polly began the "delicate and dangerous task." Instead
of going to her pupils by way of the park and the pleasant streets
adjoining, she took a roundabout route through back streets, and thus
escaped Mr. Sydney, who, as usual, came home to dinner very early that
day and looked disappointed because he nowhere saw the bright face
in the modest bonnet. Polly kept this up for a week, and by carefully
avoiding the Shaws' house during calling hours, she saw nothing of
Mr. Sydney, who, of course, did n't visit her at Miss Mills'. Minnie
happened to be poorly that week and took no lesson, so Uncle Syd was
deprived of his last hope, and looked as if his allowance of sunshine
had been suddenly cut off.
Now, as Polly was by no means a perfect creature, I am free to confess
that the old temptation assailed her more than once that week, for, when
the first excitement of the dodging reform had subsided, she missed the
pleasant little interviews that used to put a certain flavor of romance
into her dull, hard-working days. She liked Mr. Sydney very much, for
he had always bee
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