“Yes, you will, you can't help it.” And Polly's eye glanced at Sydney, who was in front with Fan.
Tom laughed, and drew Polly closer as the crowd pressed, saying, with mock tenderness: “Did n't she like to be chaffed about her sweethearts? Well, she shan't be if I can help it. Poor dear, did she get her little bonnet knocked into a cocked hat and her little temper riled at the same time?”
Polly could n't help laughing, and, in spite of the crush, enjoyed the slow journey from seat to carriage, for Tom took such excellent care of her, she was rather sorry when it was over.
They had a merry little supper after they got home, and Polly gave them a burlesque opera that convulsed her hearers, for her spirits rose again and she was determined to get the last drop of fun before she went back to her humdrum life again.
“I've had a regularly splendid time, and thank you ever so much,” she said when the “good-nights” were being exchanged.
“So have I. Let's go and do it again to-morrow,” said Tom, holding the hand from which he had helped to pull a refractory glove.
“Not for a long while, please. Too much pleasure would soon spoil me,” answered Polly, shaking her head.
“I don't believe it. Good-night, 'sweet Mistress Milton,' as Syd called you. Sleep like an angel, and don't dream of I forgot, no teasing allowed.” And Tom took himself off with a theatrical farewell.
“Now it's all over and done with,” thought Polly as she fell asleep after a long vigil. But it was not, and Polly's fun cost more than the price of gloves and bonnet, for, having nibbled at forbidden fruit, she had to pay the penalty. She only meant to have a good time, and there was no harm in that, but unfortunately she yielded to the various small temptations that beset pretty young girls and did more mischief to others than to herself. Fanny's friendship grew cooler after that night. Tom kept wishing Trix was half as satisfactory as Polly, and Mr. Sydney began to build castles that had no foundation.