“I don't want any of the gentlemen; they are so stiff, and don't care to dance with me; but I like those boys over there, and I'll dance with any of them if they are willing,” said Polly, after a survey.
“I'll trot out the whole lot.” And Tom gladly brought up his friends, who all admired Polly immensely, and were proud to be chosen instead of the “big fellows.”
There was no sitting still for Polly after that, for the lads kept her going at a great pace; and she was so happy, she never saw or suspected how many little manoeuvres, heart-burnings, displays of vanity, affectation, and nonsense were going on all round her. She loved dancing, and entered into the gayety of the scene with a heartiness that was pleasant to see. Her eyes shone, her face glowed, her lips smiled, and the brown curls waved in the air, as she danced, with a heart as light as her feet.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Polly?” asked Mr. Shaw, who looked in, now and then, to report to grandma that all was going well.
“Oh, such a splendid time!” cried Polly, with an enthusiastic little gesture, as she chassed into the corner where he stood.
“She is a regular belle among the boys,” said Fanny, as she promenaded by.
“They are so kind in asking me and I'm not afraid of them,” explained Polly, prancing, simply because she could n't keep still.
“So you are afraid of the young gentlemen, hey?” and Mr. Shaw held her by one curl.
“All but Mr. Sydney. He don't put on airs and talk nonsense; and, oh! he does'dance like an angel,' as Trix says.”
“Papa, I wish you'd come and waltz with me. Fan told me not to go near her, 'cause my wed dwess makes her pink one look ugly; and Tom won't; and I want to dwedfully.”