"Nor an old maid, if she's pretty and good; remember that, and don't visit the sins of one blockhead on all the rest of mankind," said Tom, laughing at her earnestness.
"I don't think there is the slightest possibility of Miss Polly's being either," added Sydney, with a look which made it evident that concealment had not seriously damaged Polly's damask cheek as yet.
"There's Clara Bird. I haven't seen her but once since she was married. How pretty she looks!" and Polly retired behind the big glass again, thinking the chat was becoming rather personal.
"Now, there's a girl who tried a different cure for unrequited affection from any you mention. People say she was fond of Belle's brother; he didn't reciprocate, but went off to India to spoil his constitution, so Clara married a man twenty years older than she is, and consoles herself by being the best-dressed woman in the city."
"That accounts for it," said Polly, when Tom's long whisper ended.
"For what?"
"The tired look in her eyes."
"I don't see it," said Tom, after a survey through the glass.
"Didn't expect you would."
"I see what you mean; a good many women have it nowadays," said Sydney, over Polly's shoulder.
"What's she tired of? the old gentleman?" asked Tom.
"And herself," added Polly.
"You've been reading French novels, I know you
