It returned upon both with the freshness of surprise; even Polly had quite lost sight of the startling fact during the last few minutes.  They looked at the unaddressed letter; they gazed into each other’s faces.

“You haven’t gone and made a mistake?” asked Polly in an awed undertone.

“There now!  You didn’t think; you’re beginning to be sorry.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are; I can see it.”

“Oh, all right; have it your own way!  I thought you wouldn’t be so sweet-tempered very long.  You’re all alike, you men.”

“Why, it’s you that can’t keep your temper!” shouted Gammon.  “I only wanted to hear you say it wouldn’t make any difference, happen what might.”

“And didn’t I say it wouldn’t?” shrilled Polly.  “What more can I say?”

Strangely enough a real tear had started in her eye.  Gammon saw it and was at once remorseful.  He humbled himself before her; he declared himself a beast and a brute.  Polly was a darling:  far too good for him, too sweet and gentle and lovely.  He ought to think himself the happiest man living, by jorrocks if he oughtn’t!  Just one more!  Why, he liked a girl to have spirit!  He wouldn’t give tuppence farthing for fifty girls that couldn’t speak up for themselves.  And if she was the niece of a lord, why, she deserved it and a good deal more.  She ought to be Lady Polly straight away; and hanged if he wouldn’t call her so.

“Hadn’t we better get this letter addressed?” Polly asked, very amiable again.

“Yes; it’s getting late, I’m afraid.”

Polly drew up to the table, but her hand was so unsteady that it cost her much trouble to manage the pen.

“I’ve wrote it awful bad.  Does it matter?”

“Bad?  Why it’s beautifully written, Polly—­Lady Polly, I mean.  I’ve got a stamp.”

She stuck it on to the envelope with an angle upwards; and Gammon declared that it was beautifully done; he never knew anyone stamp a letter so nicely.  As she gazed at the completed missive Polly had a sudden thought which made a change in her countenance.  She looked round.

“What is it?”

“He hasn’t got another wife, has he?”

“Not likely,” answered Gammon.  “If so he’s committed bigamy, and so much the worse for him.  Your aunt must have been his first—­it was so long ago.”

“Couldn’t you find out?  Isn’t there a book as gives all about lords and their families?  I’ve heard so.”

“I believe there is,” replied the other thoughtfully.  “I’ll get a look at it somewhere.  He’s scamp enough for anything, I’ve no doubt.  He comes of a bad lot, Polly.  There’s all sorts of queer stories about his father—­at least, I suppose it was his father.”

“Tell me some,” said Polly with eagerness.

“Oh, I will some day.  But now I come to think of it, I don’t know when he became Lord Polperro.  He couldn’t, of course, till the death of his father.  Most likely the old man was alive when he married your aunt.  It’s easy to understand now why he’s led such a queer life, isn’t it?  I shouldn’t a bit wonder if he went away the second time because his father had died.  I’ll find out about it.  Would you believe, when I met him in the street and spoke to him, he pretended he’d never heard such a name as Clover!”