“Never!” cried Polly, throwing back the brown veil behind which she had half hidden her face at first.

“On your honour, as an honest girl?”

“On my honour as anything you please. Why do you suspect me of it?” demanded Polly, almost angrily.

“Because something is wrong with you. It’s no use to deny it, for you’ve got the look I used to see in that very glass on my own face when I thought he cared for you. Forgive me, Polly, but I can’t help saying it, for it is there, and I want to be as true to you as you were to me, if I can.”

Fanny’s face was full of agitation, and she spoke fast and frankly, for she was trying to be generous, and found it very hard. Polly understood now, and put her fear at rest by saying, almost passionately,—

“I tell you I don’t love him! If he was the only man in the world, I wouldn’t marry him, because I—don’t want to.”

The last three words were added in a different tone, for Polly had checked herself there with a half frightened look, and turned away to hide her face behind her hair again.

“Then if it’s not him, it’s someone else. You’ve got a secret, Polly, and I should think you might tell it, as you know mine,” said Fanny, unable to rest till everything was told, for Polly’s manner troubled her.

There was no answer to her question, but she was satisfied, and putting her arm round her friend, she said, in her most persuasive tone,—

“My precious Polly, do I know him?”

“You have seen him.”

“And is he very wise, good, and splendid, dear?”

“No.”

“He ought to be if you love him. I hope he isn’t bad?” cried Fan, anxiously, still holding Polly, who kept her head obstinately turned.

“I’m suited, that’s enough.”

“Oh, please just tell me one thing more; don’t he love back again?”

“No. Now don’t say another word; I can’t bear it!” and Polly drew herself away, as she spoke in a desperate sort of tone.

“I won’t; but now I’m not afraid to tell you that I think, I hope, I do believe that Sydney cares a little for me. He’s been very kind to us all, and lately he has seemed to like to see me always when he comes, and miss me if I’m gone. I didn’t dare to hope anything, till papa observed something in his manner, and teased me about it. I try not to deceive myself, but it does seem as if there was a chance of happiness for me.”

“Thank heaven for that!” cried Polly, with the heartiest satisfaction in her voice. “Now come and tell me all about it,” she added, sitting down on the couch with the air of one who has escaped a great peril.

“I’ve got some notes and things I want to ask your opinion about, if they really mean anything, you know,” said Fanny, getting out a bundle of papers from the inmost recesses of her desk. “There’s a photograph of Tom, came in his last letter; good, isn’t it? He looks older, but that’s the beard and the rough coat, I suppose. Dear old fellow, he is doing so well, I really begin to feel quite proud of him.”