"Dresden!" echoed Polly, sitting quite straight with very red cheeks;
--"oh, Jasper!"
The magic word, "Dresden," had unlocked visions of months of future
delight, bringing back every word of dear Herr Bauricke; all the
instruction he had given her, on those happy days at Lucerne, that
Polly felt quite sure were engraven deep on her heart to last forever
and ever.
"And won't I study, though!" exclaimed Polly, to herself, "and make the
professor that Herr Bauricke has engaged for me, glad that he teaches
me, oh, won't I!"
"Well, I'm sorry the summer is going," said Adela, "because then I've
got to leave you at Paris, and go into school."
"But you like your school," said Polly, brightly, "you've said so a
dozen times, Adela."
"Yes, I do," said Adela, "and I've got some sketches to take back, and
Mademoiselle will be glad of that."
"And you'll go on drawing and painting until you get to be a great
artist," ran on Polly, enthusiastically, "and then we'll see something
you've done, in the Louvre, maybe."
"The Louvre!" cried Adela; "O dear me, Polly Pepper."
"I don't care," said Polly, recklessly, pushing back the little rings
of brown hair from her brow, "they'll be good enough, the pictures you
are going to do, to put into the Louvre, anyway, Adela Gray."
Tom Selwyn had been very sober during all this merry chatter; and now
in his seat across the narrow aisle, he drummed his heels impatiently
on the floor.
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