So I will say no more, dear dad.
"From your loving
"POLLY"
CHAPTER VII
POLLY'S WRATH
Polly posted her letter on the way to the theatre. This evening she
had a private engagement for ten o'clock, and on setting forth to
the appointed place she looked carefully about her to make sure that
no one watched or followed her. Christopher Parish was not the only
young man who had a habit of standing to wait for her at the theatre
door. Upon him she could lay her commands with some assurance that
they would be observed, but others were less submissive, and at
times had given her trouble. To be sure, she could always get rid of
importunate persons by the use of her special gift, that primitive
sarcasm which few cared to face for more than a minute or two; but
with admirers Polly wished to be as far as possible gracious, never
coming to extremities with one of them until she was quite certain
that she thoroughly disliked him. Finding the coast clear (which
after all slightly disappointed her) she walked sharply into another
street, where she hailed a passing hansom, and was driven to
Lincoln's Inn Fields.
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