“Well, I wonder which of those two will get your sister, Polly, this time,” said Tom, craning his long neck to see the contest.
“Oh, Alexia, of course,” said Joel carelessly; “she always gets her in the end.”
But Joel was wrong. Neither of the girls carried off Polly. Old Mr. King marched out of his reading-room. “Come, Polly, my child, you and I will walk together,” and he waited on her handsomely out, and down the walk to the car.
Tom and Joel burst into a loud laugh, in which the others joined, at the crestfallen faces.
“Well, at least you didn't get her, Clem,” said Alexia airily, coming out of her discomfiture.
“Neither did you,” said Clem happily.
“And you are horrid boys to laugh,” said Alexia, looking over at the two. “But then, all boys are horrid.”
“Thank you,” said Tom, with his best bow.
“Alexia Rhys, aren't you perfectly ashamed to be fighting with that new boy?” cried Clem.
“Come on, Alexia,” said Jasper. “I shall have to walk with you to keep you in order,” and the gay procession hurrying after old Mr. King and Polly, caught up with them turning out of the big stone gateway.