"
"And didn't I say it wouldn't?" shrilled Polly. "What more can I
say?"
Strangely enough a real tear had started in her eye. Gammon saw it
and was at once remorseful. He humbled himself before her; he
declared himself a beast and a brute. Polly was a darling: far too
good for him, too sweet and gentle and lovely. He ought to think
himself the happiest man living, by jorrocks if he oughtn't! Just
one more! Why, he liked a girl to have spirit! He wouldn't give
tuppence farthing for fifty girls that couldn't speak up for
themselves. And if she was the niece of a lord, why, she deserved it
and a good deal more. She ought to be Lady Polly straight away; and
hanged if he wouldn't call her so.
"Hadn't we better get this letter addressed?" Polly asked, very
amiable again.
"Yes; it's getting late, I'm afraid."
Polly drew up to the table, but her hand was so unsteady that it
cost her much trouble to manage the pen.
"I've wrote it awful bad. Does it matter?"
"Bad? Why it's beautifully written, Polly--Lady Polly, I mean.
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