"What? What do you mean?—what—who do you see?" asked Tilly, very much surprised at this outbreak.
"Is that the girl—the Smith girl you were telling about—there by the tree—holding a basket?" asked Tom.
"Yes; why—do you know her?"
"N‑o—but—I was thinking—she doesn't look common, does she?"
"Of course she doesn't, only plainly dressed."
"Yes, that's all;" and Tom gave a little odd chuckling laugh.
"How queer Tom Raymond is!" thought Tilly. She thought he was queerer still, as she caught his furtive glances toward that Smith girl. Presently Miss Tilly saw that the Smith girl was regarding Tom with rather a puzzled observation.
"I see how it is," reflected Miss Tilly; "they have met before somewhere, and Tom doesn't want to know her now. He thinks she isn't fine enough for this Boston set, though he owns that she doesn't look common. Oh, I do believe that Will Wentworth is the only one here who has any sense or heart."
As Tilly arrived at this conclusion of her reflections, Will came running up to her.
"Come," he said, "there's no fun here. Let's go and have a game of tennis."