“Listen next to this. ‘Definition of old gentleman of a civil shopkeeper. “His familiarity goes no farther than to accept whatever kind of weather I am pleased to bring, and to take in good part my opinion of the invasion.”’ Vastly entertaining. And now do but listen to somewhat else----” But the “somewhat else” was never read, for Jack walked in unannounced, and with him a young fellow, Albert Pierce by name, nephew to the Admiral, and subaltern in a newly-arrived regiment at Shorncliffe. Introductions followed, Polly bestowing one of her most graceful curtseys upon the new-comer, in consideration of his relationship to their old friends, Admiral and Mrs. Pierce. No doubt, too, Polly liked to be admired, as was natural in so pretty a girl, and she read instant appreciation of her charms in Mr. Pierce’s rather good-looking face. So she did her best to be agreeable to him during the next two hours, and seemed to be in tolerable spirits. Whether those spirits remained equally good, after she had disappeared from general observation, retiring to her room for the night, none about her could know. Early the next morning Polly was roused from profound slumber by agitated sounds. “Polly! Polly! Polly! Wake up this instant, Polly! I vow and protest the child is crazed! Wake up, Polly! Polly, do you hear? Polly, they’re coming!” Polly roused herself with great deliberation. She was always a heavy sleeper in the morning, though lively enough at night, and she dragged herself to a sitting posture, with half-shut eyes and loosely-hanging hair, looking, it must be conceded, not quite so lovely as when generally visible to the world. “Must I get up already, ma’am? ’Tis early.” “Get up! And already, quotha! ’Tis time you bestirred yourself in right earnest. Polly, Polly, I entreat of you to make haste. For they’re coming; they’re on their way hither.” “Jack and Mr. Pierce?” Polly indulged in a yawn.