And when, in the
luncheon hour, he posted his amorous missive, it was with almost a
careless hand.
On this same day it happened that Mr. Gammon, speeding about his
business in Messrs. Quodlings' neat little trap, found he could
conveniently stop for a midday meal somewhere near Battersea Park
Road. The boy who accompanied him took the horse to bait, and Mr.
Gammon presently directed his steps to the little china shop.
Mrs. Clover had just finished dinner; her female assistant had
returned into the shop, and by her Gammon sent a request for a
moment's private conversation. He soon entered the sitting-room
"It's strange you have looked in to-day," said Mrs. Clover, with the
dull air of one who has a headache. "I wanted to see you."
"I'm very glad."
He sat down at a distance from her and observed her face. This was a
new habit of his; he saw more, much more, than he had been wont to
see in the healthy, sweet-tempered, and still young countenance; its
present languor disturbed him
"What was it, Mrs. Clover?" he asked in a voice not quite like his
own.
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