was why it cut so deeply, especially as Polly never had approved of Trix. Before she could clear her eyes or steady her face, a gentleman met her, lifted his hat, smiled, and said pleasantly,—
"Good morning. Miss Polly, I'm glad to meet you." Then, with a sudden change of voice and manner, he added, "I beg pardon—is anything the matter—can I be of service?"
It was very awkward, but it couldn't be helped, and all Polly could do was to tell the truth and make the best of it.
"It's very silly, but it hurts me to be cut by my old friends. I shall get used to it presently, I dare say."
Mr. Sydney glanced back, recognized the couple behind them, and turned round with a disgusted expression. Polly was fumbling for her handkerchief, and without a word he took both book and bundle from her, a little bit of kindness that meant a good deal just then. Polly felt it, and it did her good; hastily wiping the traitorous eyes, she laughed and said cheerfully,—
"There, I'm all right again; thank you, don't trouble yourself with my parcels."
"No trouble, I assure you, and this book reminds me of what I was about to say. Have you an hour to spare for my little niece? Her mother wants her to begin, and desired me to make the inquiry."
"Did she, really?" and Polly looked up at him, as if she suspected him of inventing the whole thing, out of kindness.
Mr. Sydney smiled, and taking a note from his
