"Why, I've been fond of you for no end of a time! Haven't I showed it in lots of ways? You must have known, and you did know." "When you smashed my door in and fought me?" asked Polly with a shamefaced laugh. "You don't think I'd have taken all that trouble if it hadn't been for the pleasure of carrying you downstairs?" "Go along!" "But there wasn't much love about you, Polly. You hit jolly hard, old girl, and you kicked and you scratched. Why, I've bruises yet!" "Serve you right! Do let me put my 'air and my 'at straight." "I say, Polly--" and he whispered something. "I s'pose so--some day," was her answer, with head bent over the hat she was smoothing into shape. "But won't you think yourself too good for me? Remember, you've got a lord for your uncle." It returned upon both with the freshness of surprise; even Polly had quite lost sight of the startling fact during the last few minutes. They looked at the unaddressed letter; they gazed into each other's faces. "You haven't gone and made a mistake?" asked Polly in an awed undertone. "There now! You didn't think; you're beginning to be sorry." "No, I'm not." "You are; I can see it." "Oh, all right; have it your own way! I thought you wouldn't be so sweet-tempered very long. You're all alike, you men." "Why, it's you that can't keep your temper!" shouted Gammon. "I only wanted to hear you say it wouldn't make any difference, happen what might." "And didn't I say it wouldn't?" shrilled Polly. "What more can I say?" Strangely enough a real tear had started in her eye. Gammon saw it and was at once remorseful. He humbled himself before her; he declared himself a beast and a brute. Polly was a darling: far too good for him, too sweet and gentle and lovely. He ought to think himself the happiest man living, by jorrocks if he oughtn't! Just one more! Why, he liked a girl to have spirit! He wouldn't give tuppence farthing for fifty girls that couldn't speak up for themselves. And if she was the niece of a lord, why, she deserved it and a good deal more. She ought to be Lady Polly straight away; and hanged if he wouldn't call her so. "Hadn't we better get this letter addressed?" Polly asked, very amiable again. "Yes; it's getting late, I'm afraid." Polly drew up to the table, but her hand was so unsteady that it cost her much trouble to manage the pen. "I've wrote it awful bad. Does it matter?" "Bad? Why it's beautifully written, Polly--Lady Polly, I mean. I've got a stamp." She stuck it on to the envelope with an angle upwards; and Gammon declared that it was beautifully done; he never knew anyone stamp a letter so nicely. As she gazed at the completed missive Polly had a sudden thought which made a change in her countenance. She looked round. "What is it?" "He hasn't got another wife, has he?" "Not likely," answered Gammon. "If so he's committed bigamy, and so much the worse for him. Your aunt must have been his first--it was so long ago."