Her friend, Miss Waghorn, was about to be married to Mr.Nibby.It was a cheerless time of the year for a wedding, but Mr.Nibby had just come in for a little legacy, on the strength of which he took a house in a southeast suburb, and furnished it on the hire system, with a splendour which caused Miss Waghorn to shriek in delight, and severely tested the magnanimity of Polly's friendship.

Polly was to be a bridesmaid, and must needs have a becoming dress but where was it to come from?
Her perfidious uncle had vanished (she knew not yet _who_ that uncle really was), and her "tips" of late had been--in Polly's language--measly.

In the course of friendly chat she mentioned to Mr.Parish that the wedding was for that day week, and added, with head aside, that she couldn't imagine what she was going to wear.
"I shall patch up some old dress, I s'pose.

Lucky it's dark weather." Christopher became meditative, and seemed to shirk the subject.

But on the morrow there arrived for Polly a letter addressed in his handwriting--an envelope rather--which contained two postal orders, each for one pound, but not a word on the paper enfolding them.
"Well now," cried Polly within herself, "if that ain't gentlemanly of him! Who'd a' thought it! And me just going to put my bracelet away!" By which she meant that she was about to pawn her jewellery to procure a bridesmaid's dress.