“I give you my word I didn’t. It’s the law of attraction, don’t you see.”

“If Fan likes it, I con’t care.”

“She looks resigned, I think.”

She certainly did, for she was talking and laughing in the gayest manner with Frank, while Sydney was covertly surveying Polly, as if he didn’t quite understand how the grey grub got so suddenly transformed into a white butterfly. It is a well-known fact that dress plays a very important part in the lives of most women; and even the most sensible cannot help owning, sometimes, how much happiness they owe to a becoming gown, gracefully arranged hair, or a bonnet which brings out the best points in their faces, and puts them in a good humour. A great man was once heard to say, that what first attracted him to his well-beloved wife, was seeing her in a white muslin dress, with a blue shawl on the chair behind her. The dress caught his eye, and, stopping to admire that, the wearer’s intelligent conversation interested his mind, and, in time, the woman’s sweetness won his heart. It is not the finest dress which does the most execution, I fancy, but that which best interprets individual taste and character. Wise people understand this, and everybody is more influenced by it than they know, perhaps. Polly was not very wise, but she felt that everyone about her found something more attractive than usual in her, and modestly attributed Tom’s devotion, Sydney’s interest, and Frank’s undisguised admiration, to the new bonnet, or, more likely, to that delightful combination of cashmere, silk, and swan’s-down, which, like Charity’s mantle, seemed to cover a multitude of sins in other people’s eyes, and exalt the little music teacher to the rank of a young lady.

Polly scoffed at this sort of thing sometimes, but to-night she accepted it without a murmur—rather enjoyed it in fact, let her bracelets shine before the eyes of all men, and felt that it was good to seem comely in their sight. She forgot one thing, however, that her own happy spirits gave the crowning charm to a picture which everyone liked to see— a blithe young girl enjoying herself with all her heart. The music and the light, costume and company, excited Polly, and made many things possible which at most times she would never have thought of saying or doing. She did not mean to flirt, but somehow “it flirted itself”, and she couldn’t help it, for, once started, it was hard to stop, with Tom goading her on, and Sydney looking at her with that new interest in his eyes. Polly’s flirting was such a very mild imitation of the fashionable thing, that Trix & Co. would not have recognized it; but it did very well for a beginner, and Polly understood that night wherein the fascination of it lay, for she felt as if she had found a new gift all of a sudden, and was learning how to use it, knowing that it was dangerous, yet finding its chief charm in that very fact.

Tom didn’t know what to make of her at first, though he thought the change uncommonly becoming; and finally decided that Polly had taken his advice, and was “setting her cap for Syd”, as he gracefully expressed it. Sydney, being a modest man, thought nothing of the kind, but simply fancied that little Polly was growing up to be a very charming woman. He had known her since her first visit, and had always liked the child; this winter he had been interested in the success of her plans, and had done what he could to help them; but he never thought of falling in love with Polly till that night. Then he began to feel that he had not fully appreciated his young friend; that she was such a bright and lovable girl, it was a pity that she should not always be gay and pretty, and enjoy herself; that she would make a capital wife for somebody, and perhaps it was about time to think of settling, as his sister often said. These thoughts came and went as he watched the white figure in front, felt the enchantment of the music, and found everybody unusually blithe and beautiful. He had heard the opera many times, but it had never seemed so fine before; perhaps because he had never happened to have had an ingenuous young face so near him, in which the varying emotions born of the music, and the romance it portrayed, came and went so eloquently, that it was impossible to help reading them. Polly did not know that this was why he leaned down so often to speak to her, with an expression which she did not understand, but liked very much, nevertheless.

“Don’t shut your eyes, Polly; they are so full of mischief to-night, I like to see them,” said Tom, after idly wondering for a minute if she knew how long and curly her lashes were.