"Did I?" cried Joel, opening his black eyes at him, "oh! beg pardon," and off he rushed at Polly again.
"How queerly they do act!" cried Alexia, to a knot of the girls. "And just look at Mr. King, he holds on to Polly every minute—I'm going to see what it's all about."
So she hurried across the room as fast as her high-heeled slippers would let her. "Polly—Polly, did you really like it all?" she asked breathlessly. "Oh! dear me, this ruff will be the death of me," picking at it with impatient fingers.
"Don't, Alexia," cried Polly, "it's so pretty—it was all just as fine as could be, and splendidly gotten up!"
"Well, it nearly killed us," declared Alexia, fanning herself violently, "and this old ruff will end me. There!" and she made a little break in the starched affair under her chin, "that's one degree less of misery."
"What would Queen Bess do to you?" cried Polly, saying the first thing that came in her head, to keep off questions she saw trembling on Alexia's tongue.
"Queen Bess was an old goose to wear such a thing," retorted Alexia. "Oh, Polly! do come with us. Let her, do, Mr. King," to the old gentleman who made all sorts of signs that served to show he meant to keep Polly to himself. "We girls want her now," she added saucily.
"You keep away," said old Mr. King, with an emphatic nod and a twinkle in his eye, "and the other girls; I'm going to have Polly tonight; you can come over in the morning and see her." And he moved off coolly, carrying Polly with him.
[Illustration: "POLLY, DO COME WITH US!">[
Alexia stood a moment transfixed with astonishment. "Joel—Joel, what is it?" she cried in a stage whisper, as that individual pranced by in one of his fits of remorse looking up Bingley. "Do tell me what's come over Polly, and why does Mr. King act so queerly?"