Then
he actually laughed. "I am sorry myself now," he apologized, "but I
thought you were the pretty one."
"Well I am not and that is a horrid way to get even!"
Again the young man laughed. "I beg your pardon, I mean I thought you
were the nice one!" And this time Polly happening to catch his eye,
which had some of her own sense of humor in it, laughed to herself and
then swung round to talk to him more directly.
"No, I am neither the pretty one nor the nice one," she avowed. "There
is Mollie sitting between Ralph Bowles and Frank Wharton and you can go
talk to her in a moment. But just the same I am sorry that I happened
to hit you the other day and I was just as much surprised at its having
happened as you could possibly have been."
Her companion nodded as though to dismiss the subject. "If Mollie is
the nice one and the pretty one, would you mind telling me your name,
then perhaps next time I may be able to tell you apart without your
giving me such strenuous examples of your differences in character."
The girl shrugged her shoulders pretending to be entirely indifferent
and yet a little piqued at the suggestion in the last sentence. The
difference between herself and Mollie, all in her opinion in her
sister's favor, was a sensitive subject.
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