“I must go, for I promised a neighbor of mine a lesson at two.”
“I thought this was a holiday,” said Fanny.
“So it is, but this is a little labor of love, and does n't spoil the day at all. The child has talent, loves music, and needs help. I can't give her money, but I can teach her; so I do, and she is the most promising pupil I have. Help one another, is part of the religion of our sisterhood, Fan.”
“I must put you in a story, Polly. I want a heroine, and you will do,” said Kate.
“Me! why, there never was such a humdrum, unromantic thing as I am,” cried Polly, amazed.
“I've booked you, nevertheless, so in you go; but you may add as much romance as you like, it's time you did.”
“I'm ready for it when it comes, but it can't be forced, you know,” and Polly blushed and smiled as if some little spice of that delightful thing had stolen into her life, for all its prosaic seeming.
Fanny was amused to see that the girls did not kiss at parting, but shook hands in a quiet, friendly fashion, looking at one another with eyes that said more than the most “gushing” words.
“I like your friends very much, Polly. I was afraid I should find them mannish and rough, or sentimental and conceited. But they are simple, sensible creatures, full of talent, and all sorts of fine things. I admire and respect them, and want to go again, if I may.”
“Oh, Fan, I am so glad! I hoped you'd like them, I knew they'd do you good, and I'll take you any time, for you stood the test better than I expected. Becky asked me to bring you again, and she seldom does that for fashionable young ladies, let me tell you.”