“What have you been doing with yourself lately?” asked Fanny, composing herself, with her back toward the rapidly waning light.
“Wagging to and fro as usual. What's the news with you?” answered Polly, feeling that something was coming and rather glad to have it over and done with.
“Nothing particular. Trix treats Tom shamefully, and he bears it like a lamb. I tell him to break his engagement, and not be worried so; but he won't, because she has been jilted once and he thinks it's such a mean thing to do.”
“Perhaps she'll jilt him.”
“I've no doubt she will, if anything better comes along. But Trix is getting passe, and I should n't wonder if she kept him to his word, just out of perversity, if nothing else.”
“Poor Tom, what a fate!” said Polly with what was meant to be a comical groan; but it sounded so tragical that she saw it would n't pass, and hastened to hide the failure by saying, with a laugh, “If you call Trix passe at twenty-three, what shall we all be at twenty-five?” “Utterly done with, and laid upon the shelf. I feel so already, for I don't get half the attention I used to have, and the other night I heard Maud and Grace wondering why those old girls'did n't stay at home, and give them a chance.'”
“How is Maudie?”
“Pretty well, but she worries me by her queer tastes and notions. She loves to go into the kitchen and mess, she hates to study, and said right before the Vincents that she should think it would be great fun to be a beggar-girl, to go round with a basket, it must be so interesting to see what you'd get.”
“Minnie said the other day she wished she was a pigeon so she could paddle in the puddles and not fuss about rubbers.”
“By the way, when is her uncle coming back?” asked Fanny, who could n't wait any longer and joyfully seized the opening Polly made for her.