need not be in the least afraid, led the pretty
creatures slowly round the field. They were
a capital match, he said, and if Polly liked,
Stella should be hers. Then Polly had the
bridle in her own hands, and Stella walked
quietly and obligingly after Bob close to the
hedge, and then across the field to the gate,
where Mrs. Livingstone stood, without being
led. Mrs. Livingstone said Stella was
admirably trained, and a docile, fine-tempered
thing; and then she commended Polly as
sitting nicely and straight up, and bade Bob
mind and take care of her. This lesson was
repeated every morning after breakfast, and
Polly could soon ride well enough to be trusted
on the road with Bob and Maggie, and so
they took several excursions together, not very
long, and Polly made acquaintance and drank
tea informally at several neighbouring houses,
where she was evidently welcomed for
somebody's sake besides her own.

Every time this significant sort of welcome
was given her, Polly's heart suffered that strange
physical wrench, and so it did often when she
was with Bob alone, and he said kind words,
and gave her kind looks that implied his love
for her. He was never rough with her now,
but very quiet and wary, as if he had an inkling
of that hidden pang, and was watching for his
opportunity to speak without scaring her, and
so finally to cure it. His wooing was not at
all unlike the process of breaking-in Stella;
Polly was quite as shy, as proud, as averse to
bit and bridle as that pretty thoroughbred;
but, once subdued, Bob thought she would also
be as good and as obedient to his hand. Yet
all this while that he was endeavouring to make
her compliant and tractable, Polly was
hardening her mind against him, and perplexing
Maggie more and more every day. She had
no fear of herself what she should answer if Bob
were so rash as to make love to her openly (as
if his daily life at present was not all
lovemaking!); but she had many doubts whether
she had done what she ought to have done in
coming to Blackthorn Grange. She had read
very few novels, and was a child for worldly
wisdom; but she knew it was not good for a
governess to be called a flirt, and Maggie had
said to her that if she did not like Bob, she was no
better than a flirt and a coquette, to which Polly
had replied that she did like Bob, and she would
not have bad names fastened upon her. But
both the girls knew that they were talking at
cross purposes, and that liking meant very
different things in their vocabularies; standing for
downright true love in Maggie's, and in Polly's
for a mere general sentiment free to all the
world.

Thus matters went on for a week, Bob always
confident and easy, Polly sweet with him and
savage with herself, and Maggie at her wits'
end over the vanity and vexation of othei
people's courtships. " If," cogitated she—"if
Polly behaves badly to Bob, she'll have such a
fall in my mother's esteem that I shall never be
allowed to set eyes on her again, the plaguy
puss! She would be awfully kind and sensible
if she were left to her own discretion, for she
has the dearest little warm heart in the world
for them that love her; and she need not think
she is blinding me; she is ever so fond of Bob,
bless her! only she is persuaded that she's cut
out for a single life. What a silly, selfish woman
Mrs. Curtis must be to have filled her with such
notions! I have not patience to think of her!"

The wrench at Polly's heart was very
frequently repeated at this time; it was renewed,
indeed, day by day. There was an old friend
of the Livingstone family, a widow lady, who
often dropped in with her work of an afternoon,
and was quite in the confidence of the sisters.
She tried to take up Polly in the same way,
during one of her visits, and extolled Bob so
highly that Maggie sat in dread lest Polly
should indulge in one of those sharp satiric
speeches for which she was famous at school
when provoked. But no; Polly sat humiliated
and in pain, listening to feeble anecdotes of
Bob's babyhood and boyhood, most of which
she had already heard from his mother, and
wishing she was safe at home and her trials
and temptations over. The family friend plainly
assumed that she had a special interest in Bob,
or soon would have, and she did not feel
skilful enough to parry the assumption without
betraying that she understood it. All Polly's
feints consisted in refusing to see what she
did not wish to see. While the talk was still
at its height, down came a heavy pour of rain,
and Bob strolled in from the garden. Polly
was in possession of his peculiar chair, and,
quite simply, not meaning any offence or
expecting it to be taken, he said, "Get up, Polly,
and you shall sit on my knee." Polly got
up, and would have stepped away; but Bob
dexterously intercepted her and throned her
on his knee, adding, in a cheerful explanatory
tone, " She is going to be my little wife, Mrs.
Davis—are you not, Polly?"

"There go two words to that bargain,"
said Maggie, and laughed nervously. Polly
did not speak, but she made a gentle decided
move to extricate herself, her heart beating
with pang after pang, and her eyes turned with
pathetic entreaty on Bob's face. Bob, who
loved her eyes, smiled at their helpless sweetness,
and thought they were like his favourite
setter's when she cowered at his feet, fearing
punishment. He did not let her go at once,
and she did not struggle—dignity forbade—
but she slipped away by-and-by, and contrived
to say, pleasantly, that though it might be a
vast honour to sit on Bob's knee, she greatly
preferred a chair, at which Bob laughed,
perhaps rather too incredulously.

The day but one after this was the day fixed
for Polly to go home. Mrs. Livingstone was
very kind to her, and hoped she would soon
return for a longer stay; and this she repeated
so frequently that Polly quite understood that
she had no doubt of it. Bob left her little peace,
but he did not put her out of her pain until
the last morning, when she had begun to
think she was to get away without incurring
the worst test. It was settled the night before