and brightened yet more; and then that angel child, Pollyooly—I blush to tell it—closed her left eye in a deliberate and premeditated wink. As she winked, she held out a bunch of violets.
Grizel flushed, and her eyes sparkled like stars.
"Oh, what pretty children!" she cried in the most ingenuous tone, conveying to her watchful dragon the strong impression that she had never set her beautiful eyes on them before—so true is it that even in the most innocent woman there is a vast store of protective deceit, only waiting for the pressure of necessity to be drawn upon for her advantage.
Even as she spoke, her fingers closed on the bunch of violets in Pollyooly's outstretched hand.
She fastened them firmly in her waistband. Then she took a shilling from her purse and gave it to Pollyooly, while her maid snorted in the genuine dragon fashion; and, if flame did not burst from her nostrils, it was not for want of will.
"What's your name, little girl?" said Grizel.
"My name's Mary Bride, but everybody calls me Pollyooly," said that angel child.
"Then you have two pretty names," said Grizel.
