"I want you to come with me where we can have a quiet talk," he said
at once in a tone of eager cordiality. "It's too wet for walking;
we'll have a cab."
Polly gazed at him in unfeigned surprise, and asked where they were
to go. Not far, he replied; here was a cab; in with her. And before
she could decide upon resistance Polly was seated by him. Gammon
then explained that he had the use of a sitting-room at a coffee
tavern; they would be there in a minute or two, There was good news
for her--news that couldn't be told in the street or in a crowded
restaurant.
"Did you get my letter?" she asked, shrinking as far from him as
space allowed.
"Letter? When?"
"I posted it this morning," Polly answered in a timidly sullen
voice.
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.
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