Polly frowned. She did not feel particularly inclined to oblige any one just now, but David had a pleading way of his own; he squeezed her arm affectionately, and looked into her face with a world of beseeching in his big black eyes. After all it was no very difficult matter to get at Polly’s warm heart. She looked over her shoulder.
“George, will you give Maggie a seat beside you,” she said. “No, none of the rest of us want to drive. Come on, David. Now, David, what is it?”
“It’s about Flower,” said David. “She—she—you don’t none of you know Flower yet.”
“Oh, I am not sure of that,” replied Polly, speaking on purpose in a very careless tone. “I suppose she’s much like other girls. She’s rather pretty, of course, and has nice ways with her. I made stories about you both, but you’re not a bit like anything I thought of. In some ways you’re nicer, in some not so nice. Why, what is the matter, David? What are you staring at me so hard for?”
“Because you’re all wrong,” responded David. “You don’t know Flower. She’s not like other girls; not a bit. There were girls at Ballarat, and she wasn’t like them. But no one wondered at that, for they were rough, and not like real ladies. And there were girls on board the big ship we came over in, and they weren’t rough, but Flower wasn’t a bit like them either. And she’s not like any of you, Polly, although I’m sure you are nice, and Helen is sweet, and Fly is a little brick. Flower is not like any other girl I have ever seen.”
“She must be an oddity, then,” said Polly. “I hate oddities. Do let’s walk a little faster, David.”
“You are wrong again,” persisted David, quickening his steps. “An oddity is some one to laugh at, but no one has ever dreamed of laughing at Flower. She is just herself, like no one else in the world. No, you don’t any of you know her yet. I suppose you are every one of you thinking that she’s the very nicest and cleverest and perfectest girl you ever met?”
“I’m sure we are not,” said Polly. “I think, for my part, there has been a great deal too much fuss made about her. I’m getting tired of her airs, and I think she was very rude just now.”
“Oh, don’t, Polly, you frighten me. I want to tell you something so badly. Will you treat it as a great, enormous secret? will you never reveal it, Polly?”
“What a queer boy you are,” said Polly. “No, I won’t tell. What’s the mystery?”