“Are you tired, Polly?” asked Tom, bending down to look into her face.
“Yes, of being nobody.”
“Ah, but you ain't nobody, you're Polly, and you could n't better that if you tried ever so hard,” said Tom, warmly, for he really was fond of Polly, and felt uncommonly so just then.
“I'm glad you think so, anyway. It's so pleasant to be liked.” And she looked up with her face quite bright again.
“I always did like you, don't you know, ever since that first visit.”
“But you teased me shamefully, for all that.”
“So I did, but I don't now.”
Polly did not answer, and Tom asked, with more anxiety than the occasion required: “Do I, Polly?”
“Not in the same way, Tom,” she answered in a tone that did n't sound quite natural.
“Well, I never will again.”