"Why, Polly, it _is_ Leo that you care for!"
We were sitting under an old mulberry-tree near the gate, in the
kitchen garden, but when I said this Polly jumped up and tried to run
away. I caught her hand to detain her, and we were standing very much
in the attitude of the couple in a certain sentimental print entitled
"The Last Appeal," when the gate close by us opened, and my father put
his head into the garden, shouting "James! James!" I dropped Polly's
hand, and struck by the same idea, we both blushed ludicrously; for
the girls knew as well as I did the plans made on our behalf by our
respective parents.
"The men are at dinner, sir," said I, going towards my father. "Can I
do anything?"
"Not at all--not at all; don't let me disturb you," said the old
gentleman, with an unmistakably pleased expression of countenance. And
turning to blushing Polly, he added in his most gracious tones,
"You look charming, my dear, standing under that old mulberry-tree, in
your pretty dress. It was planted by my grandfather, your
great-grandfather, my love, and Regie's also. I wish I could have you
painted so. Quite a picture--quite a picture!"
Saying which, and waving off my attempts to follow him, he bowed
himself out and shut the door behind him.
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