It vexed her much more than she would have thought to miss the jocose greetings of her neigh hour Mr. Gammon.  As usual he sang in his bedroom of a morning, as usual be shouted orders and questions to Moggie, but for her he had never a word.  She listened for him as he came out of the room, and once so far humbled herself as to affect a cough in his bearing.  Mr. Gammon paid no attention.

Then she raged at him—­of course, satto voce.  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.

“Moggie!  Fry me three eggs this morning with the bacon—­do you hear?”

Three eggs!  Fried with bacon!  And all comfortably set out at the end of the kitchen table.  And to think that she might be going down to breakfast at the same time, with Mr. Gammon’s jokes for a relish!

“Oh, the wretches!  The mean, selfish brutes!”

She stamped about the floor to ease her nerves as she put on a common hat and an old jacket.  She unlocked her door with violence, banged it open, and slammed it to again.  From the staircase window she saw that the rain was falling more heavily, and she could not wait, for she felt hungry—­after hearing about those three eggs.  If she met anyone down below!

And, as chance had it, she met Mrs. Cheeseman just coming up to her room from the kitchen with a dish of sausages.  The woman grinned and turned her head away.  Polly had never been so tempted to commit an assault; she thought. with a burning brain how effective would be one smart stroke on the dish of sausages with the handle of her umbrella.

Still hot from this encounter in the passage she came face to face with Mrs. Bubb.  The landlady seemed to hesitate, but before Polly had gone by she addressed her with exaggerated politeness.

“Good morning, Miss Sparkes.  So I s’pose we’re losing you to-morrow?”

“Yes, you are,” Polly replied, from a parched throat, glaring at her enemy.