'I 'll write to-night. Would you like me to tell the girls about Trix and Sydney?' she asked as she rose, feeling that the council was over.
'I wish you would. I don't know how to thank you for all you 've done for me; I wish to heaven I did,' said Tom, holding out his hand with a look that Polly thought a great deal too grateful for the little she had done.
As she gave him her hand, and looked up at him with those confiding eyes of hers, Tom's gratitude seemed to fly to his head, for, without the slightest warning, he stooped down and kissed her, a proceeding which startled Polly so that he recovered himself at once, and retreated into his den with the incoherent apology, 'I beg pardon could n't help it grandma always let me on my birthday.'
While Polly took refuge up stairs, forgetting all about Fan, as she sat in the dark with her face hidden, wondering why she was n't very angry, and resolving never again to indulge in the delightful but dangerous pastime of playing grandmother.
18. The Woman Who Did Not Dare
POLLY wrote enthusiastically, Ned answered satisfactorily, and after much corresponding, talking, and planning, it was decided that Tom should go West. Never mind what the business was; it suffices to say that it was a good beginning for a young man like Tom, who, having been born and bred in the most conservative class of the most conceited city in New England, needed just the healthy, hearty, social influences of the West to widen his views and make a man of him.
Of course there was much lamentation among the women, but every one felt it was the best thing for him; so while they sighed they sewed, packed visions of a brilliant future away with his new pocket handkerchiefs, and rejoiced that the way was open before him even in the act of bedewing his boots with tears. Sydney stood by him to the last,
'like a man and a brother' (which expression of Tom's gave Fanny infinite satisfaction), and Will felt entirely consoled for Ned's disappointment at his refusal to go and join him, since Tom was to take the place Ned had kept for him.
Fortunately every one was so busy with the necessary preparations that there was no time for romance of any sort, and the four young people worked together as soberly and sensibly as if all sorts of emotions were not bottled up in their respective hearts. But in spite of the silence, the work, and the hurry, I think they came to know one another better in that busy little space of time than in all the years that had gone before, for the best and bravest in each was up and stirring, and the small house was as full of the magnetism of love and friendship, self-sacrifice and enthusiasm, as the world outside was full of spring sunshine and enchantment. Pity that the end should come so soon, but the hour did its work and went its way, leaving a clearer atmosphere behind, though the young folks did not see it then, for their eyes were dim because of the partings that must be.
Tom was off to the West; Polly went home for the summer; Maud was taken to the seaside with Belle; and Fanny left alone to wrestle with housekeeping, 'help,' and heartache. If it had not been for two things, I fear she never would have stood a summer in town, but Sydney often called, till his vacation came, and a voluminous correspondence with Polly beguiled the long days. Tom wrote once a week to his mother, but the letters were short and not very satisfactory, for men never do tell the interesting little things that women best like to hear. Fanny forwarded her bits of news to Polly. Polly sent back all the extracts from Ned's letters concerning Tom, and by putting the two reports together, they gained the comfortable assurance that Tom was well, in good spirits, hard at work, and intent on coming out strong in spite of all obstacles.
Polly had a quiet summer at home, resting and getting ready in mind and body for another winter's work, for in the autumn she tried her plan again, to the satisfaction of her pupils and the great joy of her friends. She never said much of herself in her letters, and Fanny's first exclamation when they met again, was an anxious 'Why, Polly, dear!
Have you been sick and never told me?'
'No, I 'm only tired, had a good deal to do lately, and the dull weather makes me just a trifle blue. I shall soon brighten up when I get to my work again,' answered Polly, bustling about to put away her things.
'You don't look a bit natural. What have you been doing to your precious little self?'
persisted Fanny, troubled by the change, yet finding it hard to say wherein it lay.
Polly did not look sick, though her cheeks were thinner and her color paler than formerly, but she seemed spiritless, and there was a tired look in her eyes that went to Fanny's heart.
'I 'm all right enough, as you 'll see when I 'm in order. I 'm proper glad to find you looking so well and happy. Does all go smoothly, Fan?' asked Polly, beginning to brush her hair industriously.
'Answer me one question first,' said Fanny, looking as if a sudden fear had come over her. 'Tell me, truly, have you never repented of your hint to Sydney?'
'Never!' cried Polly, throwing back the brown veil behind which she had half hidden her face at first.
'On your honor, as an honest girl?'
'On my honor, as anything you please. Why do you suspect me of it?' demanded Polly, almost angrily.
'Because something is wrong with you. It 's no use to deny it, for you 've got the look I used to see in that very glass on my own face when I thought he cared for you. Forgive me, Polly, but I can't help saying it, for it is there, and I want to be as true to you as you were to me if I can.'
Fanny's face was full of agitation, and she spoke fast and frankly, for she was trying to be generous and found it very hard. Polly understood now and put her fear at rest by saying almost passionately, 'I tell you I don't love him! If he was the only man in the world, I would n't marry him, because I don't want to.'
The last three words were added in a different tone, for Polly had checked herself there with a half-frightened look and turned away to hide her face behind her hair again.
'Then if it 's not him, it 's some one else. You 've got a secret, Polly, and I should think you might tell it, as you know mine,' said Fanny, unable to rest till everything was told, for Polly's manner troubled her.
There was no answer to her question, but she was satisfied and putting her arm round her friend, she said, in her most persuasive tone, 'My precious Polly, do I know him?'
'You have seen him.'
'And is he very wise, good, and splendid, dear?'
'No.'
'He ought to be if you love him. I hope he is n't bad?' cried Fan, anxiously, still holding Polly, who kept her head obstinately turned.
'I 'm suited, that 's enough.'
