"I suppose I am," said Polly, with a little laugh, "but it seems as if I couldn't be anything but Polly Pepper. Oh! thank you, Pickering, for these lovely roses," catching sight of him.
"Glad you like them," said Pickering radiantly. "Say, Polly, don't stay away a whole year, will you?"
Young Mr. Bayley set the basket in his hand and turned on his heel with a smile.
"Come, Polly, I want you," cried Alexia, trying to draw her off. "You know she's my very best friend, Pickering, and I haven't had a chance to say one word to her this morning. Come, Polly."
"Polly, come here," called Mrs. Fisher.
"O dear!" cried Alexia impatiently, "now that's just the way it always is. It's Polly here, and Polly there," as Polly deserted her and ran off with her basket of roses.
"You don't do any of the calling, of course," said Pickering, with a laugh.
"Well, I'll have her to myself," declared Alexia savagely, "before it's time for us to get off the steamer, see if I don't."
"I don't believe it," said Pickering. "Look at her now in a maelstrom of relatives. You and I, Alexia, are left out."
And the next thing Alexia knew somebody unceremoniously helped her from the steamer with a "Beg pardon, Miss, but you must get off," and she was standing on the wharf in a crowd of people, looking in a dazed way at Polly Pepper's fluttering handkerchief, while fast-increasing little ripples of greenish water lay between them.