that she should go to the station with Maggie
and Laura in the pony-carriage, which had a
front and back seat; and when she had said
good-bye to Mrs. Livingstone and Fanny indoors
and came out at the garden-door in the morning
sunshine, there was Bob in a light summer suit,
looking in the finest spirits, but excited withal.

"Are you going, Bob? I have put on my
driving gloves," said Laura, who had already
taken the reins.

"You may drive and welcome; I only want
to go to the turn of Pickett's-lane; I'll sit
behind with Polly," said he, and put her in and
followed liimself. Then Maggie mounted by her
sister, and off the pony went at a frisky trot.

Polly's parting glimpse of the Grange was
adorned by the figures of Mrs. Livingstone and
Fanny in the porch, Fanny waving her hand and
crying, "Come back soon, Polly; come back
soon!" The road was long and perfectly level
and straight, but it wavered in capricious zig-
zags before Polly's eyes, while roses and lilies
contended for the dominion of her face. Bob
was there, and watching her, and her heart was
all one great swelling pang. She would have
given anything for leave to cry, but this was
neither the time nor place for tears, and she had
forgotten her veil. Bob was apparently occupied
with the landscape, but he did not lose one
change of her sweet little face, and presently he
began to speak of her return to the Grange.

"But I shall see you before then, Polly," he
went on; "I am coming to Norminster next
week, and you will introduce me to Jane and
your mother. I am only a rough fellow, but I
love you dearly, Polly, and you must speak for
me. I'll promise to take all the care in the
world of you if you'll be my precious little wife
—don't you believe me, Polly?"

"I know you are very good, Bob, but I made
up my mind long since that I could take care of
myself," said Polly, with sudden, invincible,
wicked quiet, that came to her aid from no one
could tell whence.

"What on earth do you mean, Polly?"
demanded Bob, startled out of his happy
complacency.

"What I say. You are very kind, but—but
I don't intend to marry."

Bob was posed for a moment, though not
silenced. "Change your mind for me, Polly.
Don't you think we could be happy together?
I have quite set my heart on you; I cannot live
without you."

"That is what all men say beforehand; but I
have heard my mother talk. No, Bob; I shall
make a better governess than wife; I am not
cut out for anybody's wife."

"Let me judge of that, Polly; don't shake
your head. What has come over you to be such
a little savage all at once? You were very nice
yesterday; why did you let a fellow go on
worshipping you, if you meant to be so hard to him
at last? I don't understand it; I won't believe
you can seriously mean to use a fellow so badly,
Is it true, then, that you don't care for me? is
it true that you can't be happy with me—that
you won't even think of it?"

There was no softening or promise in Polly's
countenance. She was feeling that she had
come through the dreaded ordeal wonderfully,
and the pride and excitement of a complete
victory over the traitor in her bosom sustained her.
Bob was speechless for a few minutes. They
approached the turn of Pickett's-lane. At the
supreme moment he looked at her once more
with wrathful love, and said, in a constrained
voice, "Then you'll have nothing to do with me,
Polly?" Her heart moved with a cruel spasm,
but her "No, Bob," came out cold, curt, and
clear as a drop of iced water.

Bob stepped into the road as Laura checked
the pony; the halt was not for half a minute,
and he had disappeared, and Polly was left to
enjoy her triumph of principle over natural
affection.

Maggie understood but too well what had
happened, and, doing by Polly as she would
have been done by in similar circumstances, she
took no notice of her disappointing friend until
they arrived at the station. There were not
two minutes to wait, and the train dashed in.
Laura stayed outside with the pony. Maggie
took Polly's ticket, saw her luggage safe and
herself in a carriage alone; and then, just as the
guard came along with his whistle and "all
right," she kissed her and said, with a sob, "I
am awfully sorry, Polly; but it is your own
fault. You deserve to die an old maid, and I
believe you will!"

               CHAPTER VI

It may, perhaps, be anticipated that Polly
repented at once, for she was certainly fond of
Bob; but it cannot confidently be averred that
she did. When she arrived at home, her mother
and Jane thought her looking remarkably rosy
and well; nothing was observed to be the matter
with her spirits, and as she kept her own counsel
about Bob's offer, she had neither praise nor
blame to endure, nor question, nor comment,
nor criticism. Mrs. Sanders did remark once,
"You have not picked up a beau in the country,
then, Miss Polly?" and her mother did rejoin
that she hoped her girls had more sense than to
dream of beaux, but that was the nearest allusion
to the subject; and, when the holidays were
over, she went back to the Warden House and
resumed her schoolroom work in her orderly
systematic way, as if she had not a care or a
thought beyond it. For a month or two Mrs.
Stapylton lived in daily expectation of a notice
that she must provide herself with another
governess, but no notice coming, she concluded
that Polly had missed her chance, and as she
suited her admirably in every way, she was not
sorry. Maggie's letters were not much less
frequent or affectionate than formerly, but Polly
was not invited again to spend her holidays at
the Grange, as was very natural. Nor did they
meet. People may live half a lifetime within a
few miles of each other, and never meet, if
neither desire it; and the three years Miss Mill
had decreed as the shortest time any governess
who meant to prosper in her vocation should
stay in her first place, went over without ever