Sydney, as if he liked to share all the nonsense going.
"One more."
"What do you call it?"
"The portrait of a gentleman;" and the little glass reflected a gratified face for the space of two seconds.
"Thank you; I'm glad I don't disgrace my name," said Sydney, looking down into the merry blue eyes that thanked him silently for many of the small kindnesses that women never can forget.
"Very good, Polly, you are getting on fast," whispered Tom, patting his yellow kids approvingly.
"Be quiet! Dear me, how warm it is!" and Polly gave him a frown that delighted his soul.
"Come out and have an ice; we shall have time."
"Fan is so absorbed, I couldn't think of disturbing her," said Polly, fancying that her friend was enjoying the evening as much as she was,—a great mistake, by the way, for Fan was acting for effect; and though she longed to turn and join them, wouldn't do it, unless a certain person showed signs of missing her. He didn't, and Fanny chatted on, raging inwardly over her disappointment, and wondering how Polly could be so gay and selfish.
It was delicious to see the little airs Polly put on, for she felt as if she were somebody else, and acting a part. She leaned back, as if quite oppressed by the heat, permitted Sydney to fan her, and paid him for the service by giving him a flower from her bouquet,—proceedings which amused Tom immensely, even while it piqued him a little to be treated like an old friend who didn't count.
