cy. She
was friendly and sweet-tempered, of course, but she never asked his
advice about things as she once had, nor seemed to care to give him a
great amount of her time. Instead she appeared to be as fond of Frank
Wharton and as dependent upon him as though he had been in reality her
own brother. And Frank having recently returned to Woodford to live, had
gone into business with his father. Truly Billy felt that he had not
deserved the situation in which he now found himself. Of course one
might have expected anything from so uncertain a quantity as Polly, but
to Mollie he had been truly attached and she had been to him like a
little sister. So it was difficult to comprehend what had now come
between them.

Billy had no special fancy for playing third person and remaining to
talk to Polly and John Everett, so considering that both his chair and
his presence were unnecessary, he moved off in the direction of the
dining room.

Polly smiled up at her latest companion with two points of rather
dangerous light at the back of her Irish blue eyes. Then she let her
glance travel slowly from the tips of John Everett's patent leather
shoes, along the immaculate expanse of his frock coat and fluted shirt,
until finally it reached the crown of his well-brushed golden brown
hair.

"It must be a wonderful feeling, John, to be so kind of--glorious!"
Polly exclaimed, in a perfectly serious manner.

"Glorious," John frowned; "what do you mean?" He was an intelligent,
capable fellow, but not especially quick.

"Oh, don't you feel that you are giving poor little Woodford a treat
every now and then by allowing it the chance of beholding so perfect an
imitation of a gentleman. I don't mean imitation, John, that does not
sound polite of me. Of course I mean so perfect a picture. I have been
feasting my eyes on you whenever I have had the opportunity all
afternoon. For I want to tell Betty Ashton when I see her who is the
most distinguished-looking person among us. And of course----"

John flushed, though he laughed good-naturedly. "What a horrid
disposition you still have, Polly O'Neill. One would think that you
were now old enough to make yourself agreeable to your superiors." He
stooped, for whether by accident or design, the girl had dropped a small
paste-board box on the floor.

"This is something or other that Anthony Graham is sending over to Betty
Ashton," Polly explained with pretended carelessness. "I suppose you can
rem