"Yes'm. Same to you, ma'am."
There was something at once so quaint and so ridiculous in the pair, that they gazed at each other for a moment, and then, sinking clown on the floor regardless of their finery, they burst out laughing.
"Oh, Alan, you're so absurd!" gasped Polly.
"You're another," responded Alan; "only you're worse." And they went off into a fresh paroxysm of giggles.
At last Polly sprang up with decision.
"How silly you are, Alan!" she said, as she marched up to the glass once more.
"Am I?" inquired Alan meekly. "How do you like the looks, Polly?"
Polly stared at herself closely and long, and a scornful expression gathered about her lips.
"It doesn't match," she said concisely, as she turned away.
It certainly did not. The face and head-dress, suggestive of the free, roving life of the plains, rose above a gown which was only suited to comic opera. Clearly, Pocahontas had made a mistake when she arranged her costume.