"Tom! What does he know or care about my affairs?" demanded Polly.
"He met you two in the street pretty often, and being in a sentimental mood himself, got up a romance for you and Sydney."
"I'm much obliged to him for his interest, but it's quite wasted, thank you."
Fan's next proceeding gave her friend another surprise, for, being rather ashamed of herself, very much relieved, and quite at a loss what to say, she took refuge in an hysterical fit of tears, which changed Polly's anger into tenderness at once.
"Is that the trouble she has been hiding all winter? Poor dear, I wish I'd known it sooner," thought Polly, as she tried to soothe her with comfortable pats, sniffs of cologne, and sympathizing remarks upon the subject of headache, carefully ignoring that other feminine affliction, the heartache.
"There, I feel better. I've been needing a good cry for some time, and now I shall be all right. Never mind it, Polly, I'm nervous and tired; I've danced too much lately, and dyspepsia makes me blue;" and Fanny wiped her eyes and laughed.
"Of course it does; you need rest and petting, and here I've been scolding you, when I ought to have been extra kind. Now tell me what I can do for you," said Polly, with a remorseful face.
"Talk to me, and tell me all about yourself. You don't seem to have as many worries as other people. What's the secret, Polly?" and Fan looked up with wet eyes, and a wistful face at Polly, who was putting little dabs of cologne all over her head.
