Yes, stay!--
her hair: her hair was so glossy that, when the sun caught it, high
lights came out on it--so much he remembered. From this he fell to
wondering whether her brain kept pace with her nimble hands and ways.
Was she stupid or clever? He could not tolerate stupidity. And Polly had
given him no chance to judge her; had hardly opened her lips before him.
What a timid little thing she was to be sure! He should have made it his
business to draw her out, by being kind and encouraging. Instead of
which he had acted towards her, he felt convinced, like an ill-mannered
boor.
He did not know how it was, but he couldn't detach his thoughts from
Polly this evening: to their accompaniment he paced up and down. All of
a sudden he stood still, and gave a short, hearty laugh. He had just
seen, in a kind of phantom picture, the feet of the sisters Beamish as
they sat on the verandah edge: both young women wore flat sandal-shoes.
And so that neatest of neat ankles had been little Polly's property! For
his life he loved a well-turned ankle in a woman.
A minute later he sat down at the table again. An idea had occurred to
him: he would write Polly a letter--a letter that called for
acknowledgment--and form an opinion of the girl from her reply. Taking
a sheet of thin blue paper and a magnum bonum pen he wrote:
DEAR MISS TURNHAM,
I WONDER IF I MIGHT ASK YOU TO DO ME A FAVOUR? ON GETTING BACK TO
BALLARAT, I FIND THAT THE RAIN HAS SPOILT MY STORE FLAG.
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