that wrapped her round defended Mrs. Despard. And how the people stared!--people who had seen her going up and down with a little bundle of patterns on her way to her work, on her way to try on a dress--people in the shops, who had been her equals if not her superiors--to see them gazing out at her with big eyes, at her fine sealskin and her fine husband, that comforted her soul. She walked slowly, getting the full good of her triumph. But when she had got to the foot of the hill she dismissed her escort. “Now you may go,” she said; “you always had plenty to do in the old days. I don’t want you to say _I_ tie you to my apron-string. You may go now.” “This is a pretty way to dismiss your husband,” said Captain Despard; “and where are you going, may I ask, that you send me away?” “Oh, I will tell you fast enough. I am not going anywhere you can disapprove of. I am going to see the girls,” said Polly, “that is all.” “The girls! My love, you must recollect,” said Captain Despard with dignity, “that the girls, as you call them, are not fit companions for you.” “You may trust me to know my place,” said Polly, “and to keep them in theirs. I should think you may trust _me_.” Fortified by this assurance, the Captain left his lovely bride. He turned back to kiss his hand to her when he was half way up the hill, prolonging the sweet sorrow of the parting, and Polly blew him a kiss with infantine grace. It was “as good as a play.” “Lord, what fools they are!” said the fishmonger on the hill, who was a cynic! and the young ladies in the draper’s shop shook their heads at each other and said, “Poor gentleman!” with the profoundest commiseration. When he had left her, Polly threw out her skirts and smoothed the fur of her lovely new coat with a caressing hand. She felt that she loved it. It was more entirely delightful than even her husband--a happiness without alloy. She walked very slowly, enjoying every step of the way. She gave a penny to the beggar at the corner in the fulness of her satisfaction. So far her happiness had evidently a fine moral influence on Polly; and she was going to pay a visit, which was also very kind, to “the girls” in the River Lane. She was not one to forget old friends. She sailed along in her pride and glory through the quarter where she was so well known, and curved her nostrils at the smells, and allowed disgust to steal over her face when her path was crossed by an unlovely figure. Polly flattered herself that she was a fine lady complete; and there was no doubt that the imitation was very good in the general, so long as you did not enter into details.