'And you are happy, Polly?'—repossessing himself of the little hand, and speaking in a changed voice, at once grave and gentle.
'Very—at least, when I am not thinking of papa' (the last very softly). 'I like the vicarage, and I like Roy—oh, so much!—almost as much as Aunt Milly.'
'That is well'—with a benign look, that somehow included Mildred—'but how about Mr. Lambert and Richard and Olive? I hope my ward does not mean to be exclusive in her likings.'
'Mr Lambert is good, but sad—so sad!' returned Polly, with a solemn shake of her head. 'I try not to look at him; he makes me ache all over. And Olive is dreadful; she has not a bit of life in her; and she has got a stoop like the old woman before us in church.'
'Some one would be the better for some of Olive's charity, I think,' observed her guardian, laughing. 'You must take care of this little piece of originality, Miss Lambert; it has a trifle too much keenness. "The pungent grains of titillating dust," as Pope has it, perceptible in your discourse, Polly, have a certain sharpness of flavour. So handsome Dick is under the lash, eh?'
Polly held her peace.
'Come, I am curious to hear your opinion of Mentor the younger, as Rex calls him.'
'"Sternly he pronounced the rigid interdiction" vide Milton. Don't go away, Dick; it will be wholesome discipline on the score of listeners hearing no good of themselves.'
'What, are you behind us, lads? Polly's discernment was not at fault, then.'
'It was not that,' she returned, indifferently. 'Richard knows I think him cross and disagreeable. He and Chrissy put me in mind sometimes of the Pharisees and Sadducees.'