“I'm no Saxon!” said he, flushing and darkening at the same time. And then, recovering his calm, he added, “There are no Saxons left amongst us, nor any Celts for us to honor with our contempt; but come away from the piano, and don't let him fancy he has bound you by a spell.” “But he has,” said she, eagerly,--“he has, and I don't care to break it.” But the little Poet, running his fingers lightly over the keys, warbled out, in a half-plaintive whisper,-- “Oh, tell me, dear Polly, why is it thine eyes Through their brightness have something of sorrow? I cannot suppose that the glow of such skies Should ever mean gloom for the morrow; “Or must I believe that your heart is afar, And you only make semblance to hear me, While your thoughts are away to that splendid hussar, And 't is only your image is near me?” “An unpublished melody, I fancy,” said Stapylton, with a malicious twinkle of his eye. “Not even corrected as yet,” said the Poet, with a glance at Polly. What a triumph it was for a mere village beauty to be thus tilted for by such gallant knights; but Polly was practical as well as vain, and a certain unmistakable something in Lady Cobham's eye told her that two of the most valued guests of the house were not to be thus withdrawn from circulation; and with this wise impression on her mind, she slipped hastily away, on the pretext of something to say to her father. And although it was a mere pretence on her part, there was that in her look as they talked together that betokened their conversation to be serious. “I tell you again,” said he, in a sharp but low whisper, “she will not suffer it. You used not to make mistakes of this kind formerly, and I cannot conceive why you should do so now.” “But, dear papa,” said she, with a strange half-smile, “don't you remember your own story of the gentleman who got tipsy because he foresaw he would never be invited again?” But the doctor was in no jesting mood, and would not accept of the illustration. He spoke now even more angrily than before. “You have only to see how much they make of him to know well that he is out of our reach,” said he, bitterly. “A long shot, Sir Lucius; there is such honor in a long shot,” said she, with infinite drollery; and then with a sudden gravity, added, “I have never forgotten the man you cured, just because your hand shook and you gave him a double dose of laudanum.” This was too much for his patience, and he turned away in disgust at her frivolity. In doing so, however, he came in front of Lady Cobham, who had come up to request Miss Dill to play a certain Spanish dance for two young ladies of the company. “Of course, your Ladyship,--too much honor for her,--she will be charmed; my little girl is overjoyed when she can contribute even thus humbly to the pleasure of your delightful house.”