"They are so kind in asking me, and I'm not afraid of them," explained Polly, prancing, simply because she couldn't keep still.
"So you are afraid of the young gentlemen, hey?" and Mr. Shaw held her by one curl.
"All but Mr. Sydney. He don't put on airs and talk nonsense; and, oh! he does 'dance like an angel,' as Trix says."
"Papa, I wish you'd come and waltz with me. Fan told me not to go near her, 'cause my wed dwess makes her pink one look ugly; and Tom won't; and I want to dwedfully."
"I've forgotton how, Maudie. Ask Polly; she'll spin you round like a teetotum."
"Mr. Sydney's name is down for that," answered Polly, looking at her fan with a pretty little air of importance. "But I guess he wouldn't mind my taking poor Maud instead. She hasn't danced hardly any, and I've had more than my share. Would it be very improper to change my mind?" And Polly looked up at her tall partner with eyes which plainly showed that the change was a sacrifice.
"Not a bit. Give the little dear a good waltz, and we will look on," answered Mr. Sydney, with a nod and smile.
"That is a refreshing little piece of nature," said Mr. Shaw, as Polly and Maud whirled away.
"She will make a charming little woman, if she isn't spoilt."
"No danger of that. She has got a sensible mother."
"I thought so." And Sydney sighed, for he had lately lost his own good mother.
