"Couldn't you find out? Isn't there a book as gives all about lords and their families? I've heard so." "I believe there is," replied the other thoughtfully. "I'll get a look at it somewhere. He's scamp enough for anything, I've no doubt. He comes of a bad lot, Polly. There's all sorts of queer stories about his father--at least, I suppose it was his father." "Tell me some," said Polly with eagerness. "Oh, I will some day. But now I come to think of it, I don't know when he became Lord Polperro. He couldn't, of course, till the death of his father. Most likely the old man was alive when he married your aunt. It's easy to understand now why he's led such a queer life, isn't it? I shouldn't a bit wonder if he went away the second time because his father had died. I'll find out about it. Would you believe, when I met him in the street and spoke to him, he pretended he'd never heard such a name as Clover!" "You met him, did you? When?" "Oh--I'll tell you all about that afterwards. It's getting late. We shall have lots of talk. You'll let me take you home? We'll have a cab, shall we? Lady Pollys don't walk about the streets on a wet night." She stood in thought. "I want you to do something for me." "Right you are! Tell me and I'll do it like a shot, see if I don't." His arm again encircled her, and this time Polly did not talk of her 'at or her 'air. Indeed, she bent her head, half hiding her face against him. "You know that letter I sent you?" "What's in it? Something nicey-picey?" "I want you to let me go to the 'ouse with you--just to the door--and I want you to give me that letter back--just as it is--without opening it. You will, won't you, deary?" "Of course I will, if you really mean it." "I do, it was a _narsty_ letter. I couldn't bear to have you read it now." Gammon had no difficulty in imagining the kind of epistle which Polly would desire suppressed; yet, for some obscure reason, he would rather have read it. But his promise was given. Polly, in turn, promised to write another letter for him as soon as possible. So they drove in a hansom, through a night which washed the fog away, to Kennington Road, and whilst Polly kept her place in the vehicle Gammon ran upstairs. There lay the letter on his dressing-table. He hastened down with it, and before handing it to its writer kissed the envelope. "Go along!" exclaimed Polly, in high good humour, as she reached out with eager fingers. Late as it was he accompanied her to Shaftesbury Avenue, and they parted tenderly after having come to an agreement about the next evening. CHAPTER XVIII LORD POLPERRO'S REPRESENTATIVE