"Not for Polly? Why, he's rich, and clever, and better than most of you good-for-nothing fellows. What can the girl expect?"
"Can't say, but I don't fancy the match myself."
"Don't be a dog in the manger, Tom."
"Bless your little heart, I only take a brotherly sort of interest in Polly. She's a capital girl, and she ought to marry a missionary, or one of your reformer fellows, and be a shining light of some sort. I don't think setting up for a fine lady would suit her."
"I think it would, and I hope she'll have the chance," said Fanny, evidently making an effort to speak kindly.
"Good for you, Fan!" and Tom gave an emphatic nod, as if her words meant more than she suspected. "Mind you," he added, "I don't know anything, and only fancied there might be some little flirtation going on. But I dare say it's nothing."
"Time will show." Then Fan began to sing, and Tom's horse came, so he departed with the very unusual demonstration of a gentle pat on the head, as he said kindly,—
"That's right, my dear, keep jolly." It wasn't an elegant way of expressing sympathy, but it was hearty, and Fan thanked him for it, though she only said,—
"Don't break your neck, Tommy."
When he was gone, Fan's song ended as suddenly as it began, and she sat thinking, with varying expressions of doubt and trouble passing rapidly across her face.
