“I've forgotten how, Maudie. Ask Polly; she'll spin you round like a teetotum.” “Mr. Sydney's name is down for that,” answered Polly, looking at her fan with a pretty little air of importance. “But I guess he would n't mind my taking poor Maud instead. She has n't danced hardly any, and I 've had more than my share. Would it be very improper to change my mind?” And Polly looked up at her tall partner with eye which plainly showed that the change was a sacrifice.
“Not a bit. Give the little dear a good waltz, and we will look on,” answered Mr. Sydney, with a nod and smile.
“That is a refreshing little piece of nature,” said Mr. Shaw, as Polly and Maud whirled away.
“She will make a charming little woman, if she is n't spoilt.”
“No danger of that. She has got a sensible mother.”
“I thought so.” And Sydney sighed, for he had lately lost his own good mother.
When supper was announced, Polly happened to be talking, or trying to talk, to one of the “poky” gentlemen whom Fan had introduced. He took Miss Milton down, of course, put her in a corner, and having served her to a dab of ice and one macaroon, he devoted himself to his own supper with such interest, that Polly would have fared badly, if Tom had not come and rescued her.
“I've been looking everywhere for you. Come with me, and don't sit starving here,” said Tom, with a scornful look from her empty plate to that of her recreant escort, which was piled with good things.
Following her guide, Polly was taken to the big china closet, opening from the dining-room to the kitchen, and here she found a jovial little party feasting at ease. Maud and her bosom friend, “Gwace,” were seated on tin cake-boxes; Sherry and Spider adorned the refrigerator; while Tom and Rumple foraged for the party.
“Here's fun,” said Polly, as she was received with a clash of spoons and a waving of napkins.