'Polly is a hundred times prettier now; but I can recognise still in you the slim creature in the rusty black frock, with thin arms, and large dark eyes, drinking in the sunlight. It was such a forlorn Polly then.'
'And then you were good to me.'
'I am afraid I must have seemed stern to you, poor child, repelling your young impulse in such a manner. I remember, while you were pleading in your innocent fashion, and Miss Lambert was smiling at you, that a curious fancy came into my head. Something hardly human seemed to whisper to me, "John Heriot, after all, you may have found a little comforter."'
'I am so glad. I mean that you have thought of me for such a time.' Polly was dimpling again; the old happy light had come back to her eyes.
'You see it is no new idea. I have watched my Polly growing sweeter and brighter day by day. How often you have confided in me; how often I have shared your innocent thoughts. You were not afraid to show me affection then.'
'I am not now,' she stammered.
'Perhaps not now, my bright-eyed bird; you have borrowed courage and eloquence for the occasion, inciting me to all manner of lover-like and foolish speeches. What do you say, little one—do you think I play the lover so badly, after all?'
'Yes—no—it does not suit you, somehow,' faltered Polly, truthful still.
'What, am I too old?' but Dr. Heriot's tone was piqued in spite of its assumed raillery.
'No, you know you are not; but I like the old ways and manners best. When you talk like this I get shy and stupid, and do not feel like Polly at all.'