don--and ought to do so.

He thought of Polly Sparkes, but always with a peculiar smile,
inclining to a grimace. Polly had "come round" in the most astonishing
way. But she would "come round" yet more before he had done with her.
His idea was to take Polly to Dulwich and show her the bow-wows; he saw
possibilities of a quiet meal together at the inn. The difficulty was
to reassure her natural tremors, without losing the ground he had
gained by judicious approaches.

About the middle of July he prevailed upon her to accept his
invitation, and to come alone, though Polly continued to declare that
she hated dogs, and that she had never in her life gone to so remote
and rural a spot as Dulwich without a "lady friend" to keep her in
countenance.

"Everything must have a beginning," said Gammon merrily.

"If you let those people know, I'll never speak to you again."

She referred to Mrs. Bubb and her household, of whom she had never
ceased to speak with animus.

"Honour bright, they shan't hear a whisper of it."

So on a Sunday morning they made the journey by omnibus for the sake of
the fresh air, Polly remarking again and again on her great
condescension, reaffirming her dislike of dogs, and declaring that if a
drop of rain fell she would turn about homeward forthwith. None the
less did she appear to find pleasure in Mr. Gammon's society. If his
gossip included a casual mention of some young lady, a friend of his,
she pressed for information concerning that person, and never seemed
quite satisfied with what she was told about her. Slyly observant of
this, her companion multiplied his sportive allusions, and was amused
to find Polly grow waspish. Then again he soothed her with solid
flattery; nothing of the kind was too gross for Polly's appetite. And
so conversing they shortened the journey to remote Dulwich.

With gathered skirts and a fear, partly real but more affected, Miss
Sparkes entered the yard where Gammon's dogs were kept. (As a matter of
fact he shared in their ownership with the landlord of the
public-house, a skilful breeder.) When puppies gambolled about her she
woke the echoes with a scream. From a fine terrier, a "game" dog whose
latest exploit was the killing of a hundred rats in six minutes, she
backed trembling, and even put out a hand to Gammon as if for
protection. Polly's behaviour, indeed, was such as would have been
proper in a fine lady forty years ago, the fashion having descended to
her