"That is what I mean to say," Hemming assured him. Suddenly his face brightened, and he leaned forward. "Why did you advise me to come to London?" he asked. Mr. Pollin surveyed him critically. "We'll just sit down and have a drink," he said, "and then maybe I will tell you." Hemming's curiosity was sufficiently excited to prompt him to comply with this suggestion. He wondered what old Pollin could have to say to him, for they had never seen much of each other, nor had they been particularly friendly. But he was Molly's uncle,--there lay the golden possibility. He smothered the thought. More likely, the communication would be something about Anderson's prospects. He smiled grimly, and swallowed half his whiskey at a gulp. Mr. Pollin settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "I like your work," he began, "and have always followed it carefully. Your Turko-Grecian book strikes me as a particularly fine achievement. What little of your fiction and verse I manage to hunt out in the magazines appeals to me in more ways than one. It is good work. But even better than that, I like the good heart I see behind it. When, a few days ago, Mrs. Travers asked me to protest with her daughter for refusing eligible suitors, I felt it my duty to look into the case,--hers and yours. I did so, and came to the conclusion that she still cares for you more than for any one else. That is my reason for writing you to come home." "Does she know that you have written to me?" queried Hemming, his face and heart aglow. "No, indeed, but I'm afraid she may suspect when she sees you," replied Mr. Pollin, with some show of uneasiness. "And what about Anderson?" asked Hemming. "Dick Anderson? Ah, he is exceedingly stupid, or he would have given up long ago. He never had the ghost of a chance," replied the beaming match-maker. Hemming stood up, and grasped the other warmly by both hands. "I got along without your letter," he said, "but I don't know what might have happened by now if you'd not stumbled over me to-night. I saw Anderson, you know, and somehow got the idea into my head that I was out of the game." "Out of the game," laughed Pollin. "No fear of that, my boy. Come over to my diggings, and we'll have a smoke on it." As he led the prodigal from the club, clinging affectionately to his arm, he warned him of Mrs. Travers. "Don't pay any attention to her,--unless she happens to be polite," he said. Late that night, after Hemming had returned to his hotel, Mr. Pollin sat up and penned a note to his niece. CHAPTER IX. TO PART NO MORE "The eyes that wept for me, a night ago, Are laughing now that we shall part no more."