"P.S.--This is wrote in a very serious mind."

This epistle at once pleased and angered Polly. Though a greedy she
was not a mercenary young woman; she had little cunning, and her
vulgar ambitions were consistent with a good deal of honest feeling.
To do her justice, she had never considered the possibility that her
father might have money to bequeath; his disclosure surprised her,
and caused her to reflect for the first time that Chaffey's head
waiter had long held a tolerably lucrative position, whilst his
expenses must have been trivial; so much the better for her. On the
other hand, she strongly resented his suspicions and warnings. In
the muddled obscurity of Polly's consciousness there was a something
which stood for womanly pride. She knew very well what dangers
perpetually surrounded her, and she contrasted herself with the
girls who weakly, or recklessly, threw themselves away. Divided thus
between injury and gratitude she speedily answered her father's
letter, writing upon a sheet of scented grass-green note-paper,
deeply ribbed, which made her pen blot, splutter, and sprawl far
more than it would have done on a smooth surface.

"DEAR DAD,

"In reply to yours, what I have to say is, Aunt
Louisa and Mrs. Bubb are nasty cats, and I don't think them for
making a bother. It is very kind of you about your will, though I'm
sure, if you believe me, I don't want not yet to see you in your
grave; and what I do think is, you might have a better opinion of
your daughter and not think all the bad things you can turn your
mind to. And if it is me that dies first, you will be sorry for the