A glimpse of a motherly-looking lady entering a door, received by a flock of pretty children, who cast themselves upon mamma and her parcels with cries of rapture, did Polly good; and when, a minute after, she passed a grey old couple walking placidly together in the sunshine, she felt better still, and was glad to see such a happy ending to the romance she had read all down the street.

As if the mischievous little god wished to take Polly at a disadvantage, or perhaps to give her another chance, just at that instant Mr. Sydney appeared at her side. How he got there was never very clear to Polly, but there he was, flushed and a little out of breath, but looking so glad to see her that she hadn’t the heart to be stiff and cool, as she had fully intended to be when they met.

“Very warm, isn’t it?” he said, when he had shaken hands, and fallen into step, just in the old way.

“You seem to find it so.” And Polly laughed, with a sudden sparkle in her eyes. She really couldn’t help it, it was so pleasant to see him again, just when she was feeling so lonely.

“Have you given up teaching the Roths?” asked Sydney, changing the subject.

“No.”

“Do you go as usual?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s a mystery to me how you get there.”

“As much as it is to me how you got here so suddenly.”

“I saw you from the Shaws’ window, and took the liberty of running after you by the back street,” he said, laughing.

“That is the way I get to the Roths,” answered Polly. She did not mean to tell, but his frankness was so agreeable she forgot herself.

“It’s not nearly so pleasant or so short for you as the park.”

“I know it; but people sometimes get tired of old ways, and like to try new ones.”

Polly didn’t say that quite naturally, and Sydney gave her a quick look, as he asked,—

“Do you get tired of old friends, too, Miss Polly.”

“Not often; but—” and there she stuck, for the fear of being ungrateful or unkind made her almost hope that he wouldn’t take the hint which she had been carefully preparing for him.

There was a dreadful little pause, which Polly broke by saying abruptly,—

“How is Fan?”

“Dashing as ever. Do you know I’m rather disappointed in Fanny, for she don’t seem to improve with her years,” said Sydney, as if he accepted the diversion, and was glad of it.

“Ah, you never see her at her best. She puts on that dashing air before people, to hide her real self. But I know her better; and I assure you that she does improve; she tries to mend her faults though she won’t own it, and will surprise you some day by the amount of heart and sense and goodness she has got.”