Belle it would spoil the effect of mine, as we are much together, of course. Was n't that sweet of her? Belle came and told me in, time, and I just got pink, so my amiable sister, that is to be, won't succeed in her pretty little plot.'
'I guess she has been reading the life of Josephine. You know she made a pretty lady, of whom she was jealous, sit beside her on a green sofa, which set off her own white dress and spoilt the blue one of her guest,' answered Polly, busy with the flowers.
'Trix never reads anything; you are the one to pick up clever little stories. I 'll remember and use this one. Am I done? Yes, that is charming, is n't it, Polly?' and Fan rose to inspect the success of Monsieur's long labor.
'You know I don't appreciate a stylish coiffure as I ought, so I like your hair in the old way best. But this is 'the thing,' I suppose, and not a word must be said.'
'Of course it is. Why, child, I have frizzed and burnt my hair so that I look like an old maniac with it in its natural state, and have to repair damages as well as I can. Now put the flowers just here,' and Fanny laid a pink camellia in a nest of fuzz, and stuck a spray of daphne straight up at the back of her head.
'O, Fan, don't, it looks horridly so!' cried Polly, longing to add a little beauty to her friend's sallow face by a graceful adjustment of the flowers.
'Can't help it, that 's the way, and so it must be,' answered Fan, planting another sprig half-way up the tower.
Polly groaned and offered no more suggestions as the work went on; but when Fan was finished from top to toe, she admired all she honestly could, and tried to keep her thoughts to herself. But her frank face betrayed her, for Fanny turned on her suddenly, saying, 'You may as well free your mind, Polly, for I see by your eyes that something don't suit.'
'I was only thinking of what grandma once said, that modesty had gone out of fashion,'
answered Polly, glancing at the waist of her friend's dress, which consisted of a belt, a bit of lace, and a pair of shoulder straps.
Fanny laughed good-naturedly, saying, as she clasped her necklace, 'If I had such shoulders as yours, I should n't care what the fashion was. Now don't preach, but put my cloak on nicely, and come along, for I 'm to meet Tom and Trix, and promised to be there early.'
Polly was to be left at home after depositing Fan at Belle's.
'I feel as if I was going myself,' she said, as they rolled along.
'I wish you were, and you would be, Polly, if you weren't such a resolute thing. I 've teased, and begged, and offered anything I have if you 'll only break your absurd vow, and come and enjoy yourself.'
'Thank you; but I won't, so don't trouble your kind heart about me; I 'm all right,' said Polly, stoutly.
But when they drew up before the lighted house, and she found herself in the midst of the pleasant stir of festivity, the coming and going of carriages, the glimpses of bright colors, forms, and faces, the bursts of music, and a general atmosphere of gayety, Polly felt that she was n't all right, and as she drove away for a dull evening in her lonely little room, she just cried as heartily as any child denied a stick of candy.
'It 's dreadful wicked of me, but I can't help it,' she sobbed to herself, in the corner of the carriage. 'That music sets me all in a twitter, and I should have looked nice in Fan's blue tarlatan, and I know I could behave as well as any one, and have lots of partners, though I 'm not in that set. Oh, just one good gallop with Mr. Sydney or Tom! No, Tom would n't ask me there, and I would n't accept if he did. Oh, me! oh, me! I wish I was as old and homely, and good and happy, as Miss Mills!'
So Polly made her moan, and by the time she got home, was just in the mood to go to bed and cry herself to sleep, as girls have a way of doing when their small affliction becomes unbearable.
But Polly did n't get a chance to be miserable very long, for as she went up stairs feeling like the most injured girl in the world, she caught a glimpse of Miss Mills, sewing away with such a bright face that she could n't resist stopping for a word or two.
'Sit down, my dear, I 'm glad to see you, but excuse me if I go on with my work, as I 'm in a driving hurry to get these things done to-night,' said the brisk little lady, with a smile and a nod, as she took a new needleful of thread, and ran up a seam as if for a wager.
'Let me help you, then; I 'm lazy and cross, and it will do me good,' said Polly, sitting down with the resigned feeling. 'Well, if I can't be happy, I can be useful, perhaps.'
'Thank you, my dear; yes, you can just hem the skirt while I put in the sleeves, and that will be a great lift.'
Polly put on her thimble in silence, but as Miss Mills spread the white flannel over her lap, she exclaimed, 'Why, it looks like a shroud! Is it one?'
'No, dear, thank God, it is n't, but it might have been, if we had n't saved the poor little soul,' cried Miss Mills, with a sudden brightening of the face, which made it beautiful in spite of the stiff gray curl that bobbed on each temple, the want of teeth, and a crooked nose.
'Will you tell me about it? I like to hear your adventures and good works so much,' said Polly, ready to be amused by anything that made her forget herself.
'Ah, my dear, it 's a very common story, and that 's the saddest part of it. I 'll tell you all about it, for I think you may be able to help me. Last night I watched with poor Mary Floyd. She 's dying of consumption, you know,' began Miss Mills, as her nimble fingers flew, and her kind old face beamed over the work, as if she put a blessing in with every stitch. 'Mary was very low, but about midnight fell asleep, and I was trying to keep things quiet, when Mrs. Finn she 's the woman of the house came and beckoned me out, with a scared face. 'Little Jane has killed herself, and I don't know what to do,' she said, leading me up to the attic.'
'Who was little Jane?' broke in Polly, dropping her work.
'I only knew her as a pale, shy young girl who went in and out, and seldom spoke to any one. Mrs. Finn told me she was poor, but a busy, honest, little thing, who did n't mix with the other folks, but lived and worked alone. 'She has looked so down-hearted and pale for a week, that I thought she was sick, and asked her about it,' said Mrs. Finn, 'but she thanked me in her bashful way, and said she was pretty well, so I let her alone. But to-night, as I went up late to bed, I was kind of impressed to look in and see how the poor thing did, for she had n't left her room all day. I did look in, and here 's what I found.' As Mrs. Finn ended she opened the door of the back attic, and I saw about as sad a sight as these old eyes ever looked at.'
