“Oh! nonsense,” cried Alexia, not looking at the face before her, and going on recklessly, “as if that meant anything, all that talk about your being a music-teacher, Polly,” and she gave a little incredulous laugh.

Polly got out of her chair somehow, and stood very close to the fussing fingers over the pink satin bow.  “Do you never dare say that to me again,” she commanded; “it’s the whole of my life to be a music-teacher--the very whole.”

“Oh, Polly!” down went the satin bow dragging with it Alexia’s spool of silk and the dainty scissors.  “Don’t—­don’t—­I didn’t mean anything; but you really know that Mr. King will never let you be a music-teacher in all this world.  Never; you know it, Polly.  Oh! don’t look like that; please don’t.”

“He will,” said Polly, in a low but perfectly distinct voice, “for he has promised me.”

“Well, he’ll get out of it somehow,” said Alexia, her evil genius urging her on, “for you know, Polly, it would be too queer for any of his family, and—­and a girl of our set, to turn out a music-teacher.  You know, Polly, that it would.”

And Alexia smiled in the most convincing way and jumped up to throw her arms around her friend.

“If any of the girls in our set,” said Polly grandly, and stepping off from Alexia, “wish to draw away from me, they can do so now.  I am to be a music-teacher; I’m perfectly happy to be one, I want you all to understand.  Just as happy as I can possibly be in all this world.  Why, it’s what I’ve been studying and working for, and how else do you suppose I can ever repay dear Grandpapa for helping me?” Her voice broke, and she stopped a minute, clasping her hands tightly to keep back the rush of words.

“Oh, Polly!” cried Alexia in dismay, and beginning to whimper, she tried again to put her arm around her.

“Don’t touch me,” said Polly, waving her off with an imperative hand.

“Oh, Polly!  Polly!”

“And the rest of our set may feel as you do; then I don’t want them to keep on liking me,” said Polly, with her most superb air, and drawing off further yet.

“Polly, if you don’t stop, you’ll—­you’ll kill me,” gasped Alexia.  “Oh, Polly!  I don’t care what you are.  You may teach all day if you want to, and I’ll help get you scholars.  I’ll do anything, and so will all the girls; I know they will.  Polly, do let me be your friend just as I was.  O, dear, dear!  I wish I hadn’t said anything—­I wish I had bitten my tongue off; I didn’t think you’d mind it so much,” and now Alexia broke down, and sobbed outright.

“You’ve got to say it’s glorious to teach,” said Polly, unmoved, and with her highest air on, “and that you’re glad I’m going to do it.”

“It’s glo—­glorious to teach,” mumbled poor Alexia behind her wet handkerchief.

“And I’m glad you’re going to do it,” dictated Polly inflexibly.

“I’m glad you’re going to do it,” echoed Alexia in a dismal tone.