“How dreadful!” cried Polly.

“I think it was fun. She was only sixteen, and he was perfectly splendid; and she has plenty of money, and everyone talked about it; and when she went anywhere, people looked, you know, and she liked it; but her papa is an old poke, so he’s sent them all away. It’s too bad, for she was the jolliest thing I ever knew.”

Polly had nothing to say to lively Miss Belle; but Fanny observed, “I like to read about such things; but it’s so inconvenient to have it happen right here, because it makes it harder for us. I wish you could have heard my papa go on. He threatened to send a maid to school with me every day, as they do in New York, to be sure I come all right. Did you ever?”

“That’s because it came out that Carrie used to forge excuses in her mamma’s name, and go promenading with her Oreste, when they thought her safe at school. Oh, wasn’t she a sly minx?” cried Belle, as if she rather admired the trick.

“I think a little fun is all right; and there’s no need of making a talk, if now and then some one does run off like Carrie. Boys do as they like; and I don’t see why girls need to be kept so dreadfully close. I’d like to see anybody watching and guarding me,” added another dashing young lady.

“It would take a policeman to do that, Trix, or a little man in a tall hat,” said Fanny, slyly, which caused a general laugh, and made Beatrice toss her head coquettishly.

“Oh, have you read ‘The Phantom Bride’? It’s perfectly thrilling! There’s a regular rush for it at the library; but some prefer ‘Breaking a Butterfly’. Which do you like best?” asked a pale girl of Polly, in one of the momentary lulls which occurred.

“I haven’t read either.”

“You must, then. I adore Guy Livingston’s books, and Yates’s. ‘Ouida’s’ are my delight, only they are so long, I get worn out before I’m through.”

“I haven’t read anything but one of the Muhlbach novels since I came. I like those, because there is history in them,” said Polly, glad to have a word to say for herself.

“Those are well enough for improving reading; but I like real exciting novels; don’t you?”

Polly was spared the mortification of owning that she had never read any, by the appearance of Monsieur, a greyheaded old Frenchman, who went through his task with the resigned air of one who was used to being the victim of giggling schoolgirls. The young ladies gabbled over the lesson, wrote an exercise, and read a little French history. But it did not seem to make much impression upon them, though Monsieur was very ready to explain; and Polly quite blushed for her friend, when, on being asked what famous Frenchman fought in our Revolution, she answered Lamartine, instead of Lafayette.

The hour was soon over; and when Fan had taken a music lesson in another room, while Polly looked on, it was time for recess. The younger girls walked up and down the court, arm-in-arm, eating bread and butter; others stayed in the school-room to read and gossip; but Belle, Trix, and Fanny went to lunch at a fashionable ice-cream saloon near by, and Polly meekly followed, not daring to hint at the gingerbread grandma had put in her pocket for luncheon. So the honest, brown cookies crumbled away in obscurity, while Polly tried to satisfy her hearty appetite on one ice and three macaroons.

The girls seemed in great spirits, particularly after they were joined by a short gentleman with such a young face that Polly would have called him a boy, if he had not worn a tall beaver. Escorted by this impressive youth, Fanny left her unfortunate friends to return to school, and went to walk, as she called a slow promenade, down the most crowded streets. Polly discreetly fell behind, and amused herself