know how to manage me. Say yes, Polly."
But Polly only laughed at his air of meek
entreaty, and his mother told him Polly had not
courage to undertake such a rough handful as
he was, and he must apply elsewhere.

That evening Polly played on the piano, and
sang distractingly. There was no end of her
accomplishments. Bob listened till he loved
her, till he longed to do as Maggie did, and hug
her up and kiss her for pure kindness and pity
that she was destined ever to be anything but a
pet and darling. That was the state of mind
into which she threw many people, while she
herself was feeling all the time quite strong and
capable and equal to her fortunes.

In this way the week went on. It was fine
weather, but Bob contrived to be much more
than usual about the house. He was even
troublesome occasionally, as one morning, for
instance, when there were custards to make, and
it was Maggie's turn in the kitchen. Maggie
would have Polly with her, and just when
she was standing at the end of the long white
table inquiring where she should sit to see, and
yet not be in anybody's way, Bob appeared,
lifted her up, and set her on the table. "Sit
there," said he, and then took a small corner
for himself close by, and supported his long
length with one foot on the floor and one arm
round Polly's waist. Such a thing had never
happened to Polly before as to be made a prop
of, and she felt that it was excruciatingly wrong
for a governess (oh, if her mother or Miss Mill
could see her!); but, at the same time, the very
novelty of the circumstance made it difficult to
extricate herself without compromising her
dignity. She pretended not to be aware of the arm,
though she was blushing and palpitating all
over, and looking at the floor ever so far below
her feet, she said, "Let me get down, please."

"You are quite safe; you can't fall while I
am here," replied Bob, purposely misunderstanding
her.

"But I don't like it; I am not used to it,"
persisted Polly, vexed and ashamed of herself,
she hardly knew why.

"Like it!" echoed Bob, in a voice of tender
concern. "Like what?"

Polly turned her face and looked at him with
sudden tears in her eyes. He would have liked
to say or do something rash, but he only took
his arm away and moved off to the hearth. It
was impossible to withstand that touching
appeal, which said plainly, "You are my host,
and should protect me, not offend me." Polly
gazed out of the window for several minutes after,
but he saw the burning rose on her face and
one tear splashed down on her hand. Maggie
seemed not to notice this byplay, and went
singing to the dairy, upon which Bob drew
hastily near to Polly and begged her not to be
angry. "I would not vex you for the world,"
pleaded he. "Say you forgive me." Polly did
not say anything distinctly, but he understood
that his peace was made; and when he heard
Maggie coming back he took his departure.
"And a good riddance too," observed Maggie:
"the custards would certainly have been ruined
if he had stayed."

In the evening Polly sang again, and Bob,
who had quite recovered his native audacity,
proclaimed that he would have a singing wife or
none. Why did not his sisters sing? They
could do nothing. Polly could do everything.

"Yes, Polly's a clever little midge," said
Maggie, tenderly enfolding her; "but you need
not take the trouble to set your cap at her, Bob;
for she has made up her mind already; she is
going to be an old maid."

Bob laughed aloud, and seemed immensely
tickled in his imagination. "She looks like it,
very much like it indeed!" said he. "I should
think so! Polly an old maid! That would be
a sin and a shame!"

Polly blushed, and said, curtly, she wished
they would talk sense, and let her alone. What
business was it of Bob's, or Maggie's either, for
that matter, what she was? As a governess
and a working woman, of course she had other
things to think of that made her serious, very
different to them, who had been born with silver
spoons in their mouths. These sentiments, and
the tone of them, and their slight incoherence,
quite upset Bob's gravity. He laughed long
and merrily, and only recovered himself when
Polly sprang up in a tempest and rushed to the
door to escape. Then, with one rapid movement,
he overtook and stopped her, and begged
her pardon with pleas enough to soften a heart
of adamant. But Polly's was harder than
adamant. "I am not a baby; you treat me like a
baby!" gasped she, crimson and furious. "I
won't be called a mouse! My name is Mary
Curtis!" Mrs. Livingstone was not present to
keep order, but Maggie knew by Polly's way
that she was really hurt and mortified; so she
interfered, and bade Bob let her alone; she was
not used to be teased.

"Then it is good for her—rub the starch
out," replied he, exasperatingly, and went so
far in his teasing that Polly, quite beside herself
with passion, struck him in the waistcoat with
all her little might. It was a mistake, as Bob
instructed her the next minute, kissing her
roughly, and then as roughly letting her go.
The instant she was released, she ran across the
hall, half blinded with tears, and, after tripping
and stumbling twice or thrice on the stairs in
the dark, gained the safe refuge of Maggie's
room, where Maggie found her presently, weeping
fit to break her heart. Polly's self-respect
was grievously wounded; if she could not make
Bob behave to her like a lady, what was to
become of her amongst children! Maggie was
perplexed. The ways and customs of Blackthorn
Grange admitted of a good deal of kissing
amongst friends, but Polly evidently considered
a kiss a mortal offence. She essayed to comfort
her by representing the fact in its local light.

"Don't make such a fuss, Polly; one would
think you were half killed," said she. "What
does a kiss matter? and it was only Bob."

"He is a perfect bear!" sobbed Polly. "I
wish I had never come!"