“I tell you that’s your uncle’s address.  Now be careful, Polly!  I won’t stand it a second time.”

He was only half joking.  Excitement tingled in him—­the kind of excitement which might lead either to rage or caresses.  He swayed now on one foot, now on the other, as if preparing for a dance, and his fists were clenched upon his hips.

“You mean to say that’s his reel name?” cried Polly, she, too, quivering and reddening.

“I do.  Now mind, Polly; mind what you say, my girl!  I won’t stand it a second time.”

“Don’t go on like a ijiot!” exclaimed the girl, starting up from her chair.  “Of course I’ll believe it if you tell me you’re not kidding.  And you mean to say he’s a lord?”

“See for yourself.”

“And his name ain’t Clover at all?  Then what’s my, awnt’s name?”

Why, Lady Polperro, of course!  And Minnie is—­well, I don’t exactly know—­Lady Minnie Polperro, I suppose.  And you—­no, I don’t think it gives you a title; but, you see, you are the niece of Lord Polperro.  Think of that, Polly; you’ve got a lord for your uncle—­a peer of the realm!

He came nearer and nearer as he spoke, his eyes distended with wild merriment, his arms swinging.

“And it’s me that found it out, Polly!  What have you got to say for it?  Eh, old girl?  What have you got to say?”

Polly uttered a scream of laughter and threw herself forward.  Gammon’s arms were ready; they clasped her and hugged her, she not dreaming of resistance—­anything but that.  Only when her face was very red, and her hat all but off, and her hair beginning to come loose, did she gently put him away.

“That’ll do; that’s enough.”

“You mean it, don’t you?” asked Gammon, tenderly enfolding her waist.

“I s’pose so; it looks like it.  That’ll do; let me git my breath.  What a silly you are!”

“And were you fond of me all the time, Polly?” he whispered at her ear as she sat down.

“I dessay; how do I know?  It’s quite certain you wasn’t fond of me, or you’d never have gone off like you did that Sunday.”

“Why, I’ve been fond of you for no end of a time!  Haven’t I showed it in lots of ways?  You must have known, and you did know.”

“When you smashed my door in and fought me?” asked Polly with a shamefaced laugh.

“You don’t think I’d have taken all that trouble if it hadn’t been for the pleasure of carrying you downstairs?”

“Go along!”

“But there wasn’t much love about you, Polly.  You hit jolly hard, old girl, and you kicked and you scratched.  Why, I’ve bruises yet!”

“Serve you right!  Do let me put my ’air and my ’at straight.”

“I say, Polly—­” and he whispered something.

“I s’pose so—­some day,” was her answer, with head bent over the hat she was smoothing into shape.

“But won’t you think yourself too good for me?  Remember, you’ve got a lord for your uncle.”