The Town Traveller Part 22

He had not been home since breakfast-time. She had written to him? Now, wasn't that a queer thing! All yesterday he, too, had thought of writing, and to-day would have done so in any case. Never mind, the letter would be waiting for him. Was it nice? Was it sweet and amiable, like herself? Ha ha! Ho ho!

As he laughed the cab drew up with a jerk. Polly saw that she was in a familiar thoroughfare and in front of a respectable establishment, but it was not without a little distrust that she entered by the private door and went upstairs. A large room, so ugly and uncomfortable that it helped to rea.s.sure her, was quickly lighted. Gammon requested the woman in attendance to bring pen, ink, and paper, whereat Polly again stared her surprise.

"Come and sit over here," said Gammon, "away from the door. Now make yourself comfortable, old girl. Sure you won't have anything?"

The writing materials were brought; the door was closed.

"Now we're all right. A long time since we saw each other, Polly. Have you heard anything? Any more about Mr. C.?"

She shook her head.

"Well, look here now, I want you to write to him. You didn't believe me when I said I knew. Well, you'll believe me now. I want you to write to him, and to ask him to meet you _here_. If he won't come I know what to do next. But you just write a few lines; you know how. You want to see him at this coffee tavern at five o'clock tomorrow; he's to come to the private door and ask for Miss--let's say Miss Ellis--that'll do. I shall be here, but not in the room at first; I'll come in when you've had a little talk. I don't think he'll refuse to come when he sees you've got his address."

"What is the address?"

"Patience, my dear; wait till you've written the letter. I'll walk up and down the room whilst you do it."

He began pacing, but Polly made no movement towards the table. She was strangely sullen, or, perhaps, depressed; not at all like herself, even when in anger. She cast glances at her companion, and seemed desirous of saying something--of making some protest--but her tongue failed her.

"No hurry," Gammon remarked, after humming through a tune. "Think it out. Only a line or two."

"Are you telling me the truth about my letter?" she suddenly asked.

"You haven't read it?"

"I a.s.sure you I haven't. That's a treat for when I get home."

Still she delayed, but before Gammon had taken many more steps she was seated at the table, and biting the end of the penholder.

"You'll have to tell me what to say."

"All right. Take the words down."

He dictated with all possible brevity. The letter was folded and enclosed. Only in the last few minutes had Gammon quite decided to share his knowledge with Polly. As she bent her head and wrote, something in the att.i.tude--perhaps a suggestion of domesticity--appealed to his emotions, which were ready for such a juncture as this. After all there were not many girls prettier than Polly, or with more of the attractiveness of their s.e.x. He looked, 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 t.i.tle; 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 have gone off like you did that Sunday."

"Why, I've been fond of you for no end of a time! Haven't I showed it in lots of ways? You must have known, and you did know."

"When you smashed my door in and fought me?" asked Polly with a shamefaced laugh.

"You don't think I'd have taken all that trouble if it hadn't been for the pleasure of carrying you downstairs?"

"Go along!"

"But there wasn't much love about you, Polly. You hit jolly hard, old girl, and you kicked and you scratched. Why, I've bruises yet!"

"Serve you right! Do let me put my 'air and my 'at straight."

"I say, Polly--" and he whispered something.

"I s'pose so--some day," was her answer, with head bent over the hat she was smoothing into shape.