I'm a ... naughty girl.
You needn't sham:
You know I am.
Polly was a slim girl of nineteen; she had light soft hair and a
small full mouth. Her eyes, which were grey with a shade of green
through them, had a habit of glancing upwards when she spoke
with anyone, which made her look like a little perverse madonna.
Mrs. Mooney had first sent her daughter to be a typist in a
corn-factor's office but, as a disreputable sheriff's man used to
come every other day to the office, asking to be allowed to say a
word to his daughter, she had taken her daughter home again and
set her to do housework. As Polly was very lively the intention was
to give her the run of the young men. Besides young men like to
feel that there is a young woman not very far away. Polly, of
course, flirted with the young men but Mrs. Mooney, who was a
shrewd judge, knew that the young men were only passing the time
away: none of them meant business. Things went on so for a long
time and Mrs. Mooney began to think of sending Polly back to
typewriting when she noticed that something was going on
between Polly and one of the young men. She watched the pair and
kept her own counsel.
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