humour. On leaving her aunt's house in the afternoon she strolled
into Battersea Park, and there treated herself to tea and cakes at a
little round table in the open air. Mrs. Clover, though the quarrel
was prolonged until four o'clock, had offered no refreshments, which
seemed to Miss Sparkes a very gross instance of meanness and
inhospitality.

At a table near to her sat two girls, for some reason taking a
holiday, who conversed in a way which proved them to be "mantle
hands," and Polly listened and smiled. Did she not well remember the
day when the poverty of home sent her, a little girl, to be
"trotter" in a workroom? But she soon found her way out of that. A
sharp tongue, a bold eye, and a brilliant complexion helped her on,
step by step, or jump by jump, till she had found much more
agreeable ways of supporting herself. All unimpeachable, for Polly
was fiercely virtuous, and put a very high value indeed upon such
affections as she had to dispose of.

The girls were appraising her costume; she felt their eyes and
enjoyed the envy in them. Her hat, with its immense bunch of
poppies; her blouse of shot silk in green and violet; her gold
watch, carelessly drawn out and returned to its pocket. "Now what do
you think I am? A real lady, I'll bet!" She caught a whisper about
her hair. Red, indeed! Didn't they wish they had anything like it!
Polly could have told them that at a ball she graced with her
presence not long ago her hair was done up with no less than
seventy-two pins. Think of that! Seventy-two pins!

She munched a cream tart, and turned her back upon the envious pair.