“It was so stupid of me not to guess before. But you see Tom always seems so like a boy, and you are more womanly for your age than any girl I know, so I never thought of your caring for him in that way. I knew you were very good to him, you are to everyone, my precious; and I knew that he was fond of you as he is of me, fonder, if anything, because he thinks you are perfect; but still I never dreamed of his loving you more than a dear friend.”

“He doesn’t,” sighed Polly.

“Well, he ought; and if I could get hold of him, he should!”

Polly clutched Fan at that, and held her tight, saying, sternly,—

“If you ever breathe a word, drop a hint, look a look that will tell him or anyone else about me, I’ll—yes, as sure as my name is Mary Milton—I’ll proclaim from the housetops that you like Ar—.” Polly got no further, for Fan’s hand was on her mouth, and Fan’s alarmed voice vehemently protested,—

“I won’t! I promise solemnly I’ll never say a word to a mortal creature. Don’t be so fierce, Polly; you quite frighten me.”

“It’s bad enough to love someone who don’t love you, but to have them told of it is perfectly awful. It makes me wild just to think of it. Oh, Fan, I’m getting so ill-tempered, and envious, and wicked, I don’t know what will happen to me.”

“I’m not afraid for you, my dear, and I do believe things will go right, because you are so good to everyone. How Tom could help adoring you, I don’t see. I know he would if he had stayed at home longer after he got rid of Trix. It would be the making of him; but though he is my brother, I don’t think he’s good enough for you, Polly, and I don’t quite see how you can care for him so much, when you might have had a person so infinitely superior.”

“I don’t want a ‘superior’ person; he’d tire me if he was like A. S. Besides, I do think Tom is superior to him in many things. Well, you needn’t stare; I know he is, or will be. He’s so different, and very young, and has lots of faults, I know, but I like him all the better for it; and he’s honest and brave, and has got a big, warm heart, and I’d rather have him care for me than the wisest, best, most accomplished man in the world, simply because I love him!”

If Tom could only have seen Polly’s face when she said that! It was so tender, earnest, and defiant, that Fanny forgot the defence of her own lover, in admiration of Polly’s loyalty to hers; for this faithful, all-absorbing love was a new revelation to Fanny, who was used to hearing her friends boast of two or three lovers a year, and calculate their respective values, with almost as much coolness as the young men discussed the fortunes of the girls they wished, but “could not afford to marry”. She had thought her love for Sydney very romantic, because she did not really care whether he was rich or poor, though she never dared to say so, even to Polly, for fear of being laughed at. She began to see now what true love was, and to feel that the sentiment which she could not conquer was a treasure to be accepted with reverence, and cherished with devotion.

“I don’t know when I began to love Tom, but I found out that I did last winter, and was as much surprised as you are,” continued Polly, as if glad to unburden her heart. “I didn’t approve of him at all; I thought he was extravagant, reckless, and dandyfied. I was very much disappointed when he chose Trix; and the more I thought and saw of it, the worse I felt, for Tom was too good to her, and I hated to see her do so little for him, when she might have done so much; because he is one of the men who can be led by their affection, and the woman he marries can make or mar him.”

“That’s true!” cried Fan, as Polly paused to look at the picture, which appeared to regard her with a grave, steady look, which seemed rather to belie her assertions.