"Oh, Alan, you're so absurd!" gasped Polly.
"You're another," responded Alan; "only you're worse." And they
went off into a fresh paroxysm of giggles.
At last Polly sprang up with decision.
"How silly you are, Alan!" she said, as she marched up to the
glass once more.
"Am I?" inquired Alan meekly. "How do you like the looks, Polly?"
Polly stared at herself closely and long, and a scornful
expression gathered about her lips.
"It doesn't match," she said concisely, as she turned away.
It certainly did not. The face and head-dress, suggestive of the
free, roving life of the plains, rose above a gown which was only
suited to comic opera. Clearly, Pocahontas had made a mistake when
she arranged her costume.
"What shall we do about it?" she asked disconsolately, as she
faced Alan once more.
"Do? If I were in your place I'd get myself up as a real genuine
Pocahontas, and not go trailing around in any such trumpery as
that," returned Alan, scornfully kicking at the end of the train,
as it lay across his toes.
"I suppose it would be better," said Polly faintly. "This doesn't
seem to suit the part very well, but I did want to wear it." And
she gazed regretfully down at her despised finery.
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