Many were the
phrases of abuse softly hurled at him as he passed her door. The
worst of it was that none of them seemed really applicable; her
vision of the man defeated all such contumely. She had never
disliked Mr. Gammon; oddly enough, she seemed to think of him with a
more decided friendliness now that his conduct demanded her enmity.
She asked herself whether he really believed any harm of her. It
looked very much as if he did, and the thought sometimes kept her
awake for fully a quarter of an hour.
It was the last day but one of her week. To-morrow she must either
submit to the degradation of begging Mrs. Bubb's leave to remain, or
pack her boxes and have them removed before nightfall. Worry had
ended by giving her a slight headache, a very rare thing indeed.
Moreover, it rained, and breakfast was only obtainable by walking
some distance.
"Oh, the beasts!" Polly exclaimed to herself, as she pulled on her
boots, meaning the inhabitants of the house all together.
Mr. Gammon opened his door and shouted down the staircase.
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