"This one she did. Good reason. It was funny reading, old girl.
That's your opinion of me, is it? Do you mind telling me who the
gentleman is--the _real_ gentleman--you think of taking up with?"
Gammon could not strike a really ungenerous note. He had meant to be
severe, but did not get beyond sly banter.
"She's a cat for showing it to you!" replied Miss Sparkes. "That was
wrote before we--you know what. It was after you'd took your 'ook
that Sunday on the Embankment. I didn't mean it. I was a bit cross.
I'll pay her out some day for this, see if I don't."
Much more did Polly say, the gist of it all being an evident desire
to soothe her companion's feelings. Gammon found himself in an
unexpected and awkward position. He had taken for granted an
outbreak of violence, he had counted upon the opportunity of mutual
invective, he wished to tell Polly to go further. In the face of
such singular mildness he was at a loss for weapons. Mere brutality
would soon have settled the matter, but of that Mr. Gammon was
incapable. At this juncture too, as if in support of Polly's claim
to indulgence, a strain, irresistible by heart of man, preluded a
song of the affections.
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