"Don't do that; give them to me," said her mother; "I'll put them in
your chair unless Miss Polly will take that place, only I don't like to
disturb you, dear," she said with a sweet smile at Polly.
"Why, that would make matters' worse, Mamma," said Fanny. "Don't you
see, then, that old bore would put himself into Polly's chair, for he
likes her, anyway. Do leave it as it is."
So Mrs. Vanderburgh smiled again. "I don't know but that you are
right," she said, and leaned back her head restfully. "Dear me, yes, he
_is_ amusing."
"They are terribly common people," said Fanny, her aristocratic nose
well in the air, "aren't they, Mamma? And did you ever see such a
clumsy thing as that dreadful boy, and such big hands and feet?" She
held up her own hands as she spoke, and played with her rings, and let
the jingling bracelets run up and down her wrists.
"Fanny, how often must I tell you to wear gloves on shipboard?" said
her mother, in a tone of reproof. "Nothing spoils the hands so much as
a trip at sea. They won't get over it all summer; they're coarsened
already," and she cast an alarmed glance at the long, slender fingers.
"I'm so tired of gloves, Mamma." Fanny gave a restful yawn. "Polly
Pepper doesn't wear them," she cried triumphantly, peering past her
mother to point to Polly's hands.
Mrs. Vanderburgh hesitated. It wouldn't do to say anything that would
reflect against the Peppers--manners, or customs, or bringing up
generally.
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