n beside him.

"Hallo! Left Polly?"

"I want you to come back with me, Mr. Gammon," replied the maiden
archly. "I 'ear you've offended Miss Sparkes. I don't know what it is,
I'm sure, and I don't ask to be told, 'cause it's none of my business;
but I want to make you friends again, and I'm sure you'll apologize to
her."

"Eh? Apologize? Why, of course I will; only too delighted."

"That's nice of you. I always said you were a nice man, ask Polly if I
didn't."

"The same to you, my dear, and many of 'em! Come along."

As if wholly unaware of what was happening Polly had proceeded
homewards, not so fast, however, but that the others overtook her with
ease before she reached the house.

"How do you do, Miss Sparkes?" began her enemy, not without diffidence
as she turned upon him. "I'm surprised to hear from Miss Waghorn that
something I've said or done has riled you, if I may use the expression.
I couldn't have meant it; I'm sure I 'umbly beg pardon."

Strange to say, by this imperfect expression of regret, Miss Sparkes
allowed herself to be mollified. Presenting a three-quarter countenance
with a forbearing smile, she answered in the formula of her class:

"Oh, I'm sure it's granted."

"There now, we're all friends again," said Carrie Waghorn. "Miss
Sparkes is living with me for the present, Mr. Gammon. There'll be
changes before long"--she looked about her with prudish
embarrassment--"but, of course, we shall be seeing you again. Do you
know the address, Mr. Gammon?"

She mentioned the number of the house, and carefully repeated it,
whilst Polly turned away as if the conversation did not interest her.
Thereupon Mr. Gammon bade them good night, and went his way, marvelling
that Polly Sparkes had all at once become so placable. Was it a
stratagem to throw him off his guard and bring him into the clutches of
some avenger one of these nights? One never knew what went on in the
minds of such young women as Polly.

Next morning he had another surprise, a letter from his friend
Greenacre, inviting him, with many phrases of studious politeness, to
dine that day at a great hotel, the hour eight o'clock, and begging him
to reply by telegram addressed to the same hotel. This puzzled Gammon,
yet less than it could have done at an earlier stage of their
acquaintance. He had abandoned the hope of explaining Greenacre's
mysterious circumstances, and the attempt to decide whether his stories
were worthy of belief or not.