d,
looked till he could not turn away.

"Now then for the address. I'll write it on this piece of paper, and
you shall copy it."

Polly watched him, puzzled by the nervous grin on his face. She took
the paper, on which he had written as legibly as he could--

"Lord Polperro,
16, Lowndes Mansions,
Sloane Street,
S.W."

And having read it she stared at him.

"What d'you mean?"

"That's the address."

"Are you making a fool of me?" Polly exclaimed, angry suspicion
flashing in her eyes.

"I tell you that's your uncle's address. Now be careful, Polly! I won't
stand it a second time."

He was only half joking. Excitement tingled in him--the kind of
excitement which might lead either to rage or caresses. He swayed now
on one foot, now on the other, as if preparing for a dance, and his
fists were clenched upon his hips.

"You mean to say that's his _reel_ name?" cried Polly, she, too,
quivering and reddening.

"I do. Now mind, Polly; mind what you say, my girl! I won't stand it a
second time."

"Don't go on like a ijiot!" exclaimed the girl, starting up from her
chair. "Of course I'll believe it if you tell me you're not kidding.
And you mean to say he's a lord?"

"See for yourself."

"And his name ain't Clover at all? Then what's my awnt's name?"

Why, Lady Polperro, of course! And Minnie is--well, I don't exactly
know--Lady Minnie Polperro, I suppose. And you--no, I don't think it
gives you a title; but, you see, you are the niece of Lord Polperro.
Think of that, Polly; you've got a lord for your uncle--a peer of the
realm!

He came nearer and nearer as he spoke, his eyes distended with wild
merriment, his arms swinging.

"And it's me that found it out, Polly! What have you got to say for it?
Eh, old girl? What have you got to say?"

Polly uttered a scream of laughter and threw herself forward. Gammon's
arms were ready; they clasped her and hugged her, she not dreaming of
resistance--anything but that. Only when her face was very red, and her
hat all but off, and her hair beginning to come loose, did she gently
put him away.

"That'll do; that's enough."

"You mean it, don't you?" asked Gammon, tenderly enfolding her waist.

"I s'pose so; it looks like it. That'll do; let me git my breath. What
a silly you are!"

"And were you fond of me all the time, Polly?" he whispered at her ear
as she sat down.

"I dessay; how do I know? It's quite certain you wasn't fond of me, or
you'd never