Polly was to be a bridesmaid, and
must needs have a becoming dress but where was it to come from? Her
perfidious uncle had vanished (she knew not yet _who_ that uncle
really was), and her "tips" of late had been--in Polly's
language--measly. In the course of friendly chat she mentioned to
Mr. Parish that the wedding was for that day week, and added, with
head aside, that she couldn't imagine what she was going to wear.
"I shall patch up some old dress, I s'pose. Lucky it's dark
weather."
Christopher became meditative, and seemed to shirk the subject. But
on the morrow there arrived for Polly a letter addressed in his
handwriting--an envelope rather--which contained two postal orders,
each for one pound, but not a word on the paper enfolding them.
"Well now," cried Polly within herself, "if that ain't gentlemanly
of him! Who'd a' thought it! And me just going to put my bracelet
away!"
By which she meant that she was about to pawn her jewellery to
procure a bridesmaid's dress. Gratitude, for the moment, quite
overcame her.
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