Gammon passed the day in high spirits, which, with the aid of seasonable beverages, tended to hilarious excitement.  The thing was going to be as good as a play.  In his short dialogue with Mrs. Clover he withheld from her the moving facts of the case, telling her only that her niece was going to quit Mrs. Bubb’s, and that it behoved her to assist in a final appeal to the girl’s better feelings.  His own part in the affair was merely, he explained, that of a messenger, sent to urge the invitation.  Mrs. Clover willingly consented to come.  Not a word passed between them with reference to their last conversation, but Mr. Gammon made it plain that he nursed no resentment, and the lady of the china shop behaved very amicably indeed.

At six o’clock Polly came home to dress for the theatre.  She left again, having spoken to no one.  Soon afterwards Gammon, who in fact had watched for her departure, entered the house and held a conversation with Mrs. Bubb in the parlour, where already the table was laid for supper at half-past eight.  Scarcely had eight struck when Mrs. Clover, who had alighted from an omnibus, sounded her pleasant rat-tat—­self-respecting, and such as did credit to the house, but with no suggestion of arrogance.  As her habit was she kissed Mrs. Bubb—­a very kindly and gracious thing to do.  She asked after the children, and was sorry she could not see them.  In her attire Mrs. Clover preserved the same happy medium as in her way of plying the knocker; it was sufficiently elaborate to show consideration for her hostess, yet not so grand as to overwhelm by contrast.  She looked, indeed, so pleasant, and so fresh, and so young that it was as difficult to remember the troubles of her life as it was to bear in mind that she had a daughter seventeen years of age.  Mr. Gammon, who made up a trio at the supper table, put on his best behaviour.  It might perhaps have been suspected that he had quenched his thirst more often than was needful on a day of showers and falling temperature, but at supper he drank only two glasses of mild ale, and casually remarked, as he poured out the second, that he had serious thoughts of becoming a total abstainer.

“You might do worse than that,” said Mrs. Clover meaningly, but with good nature.

“You think so?  Say the word, Mrs. Clover, and I’ll do it.”

“I shan’t say the word, because I know you couldn’t live without a glass of beer.  There’s no harm in that.  But when—­”

The remark was left incomplete.

“Hush!” came from Mrs. Bubb in the same moment.  “Wasn’t that the front door?”

All listened.  A heavy step was ascending the stairs.

“Only Mr. Cheeseman,” said the landlady with a sigh of agitation.  “Of course it couldn’t be Polly yet.”