"I'm rather disappointed, I must confess, in one way," said I, having
found her unable flatly to deny that she did "care for" somebody. "I
always hoped, somehow, that you and Leo would make it up together."
"You heard what Maria said," said Polly, shortly.
"Oh, I don't believe in the heiress," said I, "unless you've refused
him. He'd never take up with the blue-stocking lady and her money-bags
if his old love would have had him."
"I wish you wouldn't call her names," said Polly, angrily. "I tell you
she's the best girl I ever knew. I don't care much for most girls;
they are so silly. I suppose you'll say that's envy, but I can't help
it, it's true. But Frances Chislett never bores me. She only makes me
ashamed of myself, and long to be like her. When she's with me I feel
rough, and ignorant, and useless, and--"
"What a soothing companion!" I broke in.
"Poor Damer! So you want him to marry her, as one takes nasty
medicine--all for his good."
"Want him to marry her!" repeated Polly, expressively. "No. But I am
satisfied that he should marry _her_. So long as he is really happy,
and his wife is worthy of him--and _she_ is worthy of him--"
A light dawned upon me, and I interrupted her.
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