"One question I should like to ask," continued Greenacre, lighting a second cigarette. "Has Mrs. Clover--as we will continue to call her, with an implied apology--been informed yet?" "I haven't told her," said Gammon frankly. "And I'm sure I haven't," added Polly, who had begun to observe Mr. Greenacre with a less hostile eye, and was recovering her native vivacity. Greenacre looked satisfied. "Then I think you have acted very wisely indeed--as one might have expected from Miss Sparkes. I don't mean I shouldn't have expected it from you too, Gammon; but you and I are not on ceremony, old man. Now let me have your attention. We begin by admitting that Lord Polperro has put himself in a very painful position. Painful, let me tell you, in every sense. Lord Polperro desires nothing so much--nothing so much--as to be reunited to his family. He longs for the society of his wife and daughter. What more natural in a man who feels that his days are numbered! Lord Polperro bitterly laments the follies of his life which are explained, Gammon, as you and I know, by the character he inherited. We know the peculiarities of the Trefoyle family. Some of them I must not refer to in the presence of a young lady such as Miss Sparkes." Polly looked at her toes and smirked. "But Lord Polperro's chief fault seems to have been an insuperable restlessness, which early took the form of a revolt against the habits and prejudices of aristocratic life. Knowing so much of that life myself, I must say that I understand him; that, to a certain extent, I sympathize with him. When a youth he desired the liberty of a plebeian station, and sought it under disguises. You must remember that at that time he had very little prospect of ever succeeding to the title. Let me give you a little genealogy." "Needn't trouble," put in Gammon. "I know it all. Got it out of a book. I'll tell you afterwards, Polly." "Ah, got it out of a book? Why, you are becoming quite a genealogist, Gammon, I need only say, then, that he did not give a thought to the title. He chose to earn his own bread, and live his own life, like ordinary mortals. He took the name of Clover. Of course, you see why." "Hanged if I do," said Gammon. "Why, my dear fellow, are not clover and trefoil the same things? Don't you see? Trefoyle. Only a little difference of accent." "Never heard the word. Did you, Polly?" "Not me."