There were still many people about, largely the promenaders, shoppers, and callers belonging to the classes to which day brings work and evening recreation, with the recreation consisting mainly of what is best expressed by the old-fashioned word ‘gadding’—going abroad and foraging for some little excitement in the way of gossip or otherwise. This was the season when the Polley girls had been wont to disport themselves among their acquaintances, till the striking of a clock sent them scampering and scuttling home, like Cinderella minus her glass slipper. And sure enough ’Mily Polley came forward in her conspicuous hat and outrageous skirt, bustling along as if all the business of Friarton were left for her to do, and meeting Oliver Constable in the face. At the first glance she appeared perfectly unabashed. The only difference in her was that to the girlish pertness and boldness there was added a touch of the hard brazenness which defies such a position as hers. She was alone—she espied Oliver at once. Her sharp eyes had never been known to miss man or woman, and now—far from being cast down, they were roving on all sides, challenging every passer-by. There was the complete contrast between ’Liza and ’Mily Polley which is generally to be found between the sinned against and the sinner. ’Mily attempted no foolish disguise. She was not seeking to escape from Oliver’s recognition. She darted up to him, hailing him loudly—‘Mr. Oliver Constable, it is a treat to see you now-a-days.’ Oliver stopped and spoke to ’Mily. She made no enquiry for Jack Dadd, or the most distant allusion to Oliver’s recent loss. On the contrary, in full view of his mourning, she referred to the changes which had occurred lately, with boisterous gaiety. ‘And there are more and greater changes coming, I can tell you, Mr. Oliver,’ said ’Mily, in her glibest manner. ‘I am turning my back on this dull hole, I’m glad to say. I am to be married next Thursday; the day is so near that I need not make a mystery of it. I dare say you have heard, though you have not wished me joy yet. If you were quicker about it, I might give you an invitation to my wedding.’ ‘Do,’ said Oliver, on the impulse of the moment; ‘and I’ll be happy to come in the character of an old friend.’ ‘Will you?’ asked ’Mily, quickly and doubtfully. ‘Will you, indeed, Mr. Oliver? Do you mean what you say?’ ‘Yes, of course.’