On the Monday, when he returned home and asked for Polly, he found
that Polly was out walking. Mrs. Neefit did not at once tell him
that Moggs was walking with her, but such was the fact. Just at five
o'clock Moggs had presented himself at the cottage,--knowing very
well, sly dog that he was, the breeches-maker's hour of return, which
took place always precisely at four minutes past six,--and boldly
demanded an interview with Polly. "I should like to hear what she's
got to say to me," said he, looking boldly, almost savagely, into
Mrs. Neefit's face. According to that matron's ideas this was the
proper way in which maidens should be wooed and won; and, though
Polly had at first declared that she had nothing at all to say to
Mr. Moggs, she allowed herself at last to be led forth. Till they
had passed the railway station on the road leading away from
London, Ontario said not a word of his purpose. Polly, feeling that
silence was awkward, and finding that she was being hurried along
at a tremendous pace, spoke of the weather and of the heat, and
expostulated. "It is hot, very hot," said Ontario, taking off his hat
and wiping his brow,--"but there are moments in a man's life when he
can't go slow."

"Then there are moments in his life when he must go on by himself,"
said Polly. But her pluck was too good for her to desert him at such
a moment, and, although he hardly moderated his pace till he had
passed the railway station, she kept by his side. As things had gone
so far it might be quite as well now that she should hear what he had
to say. A dim, hazy idea had crossed the mind of Moggs that it would
be as well that he should get out into the country before he began
his task, and that the line of the railway which passed beneath the
road about a quarter of a mile beyond Mr. Neefit's cottage, might be
considered as the boundary which divided the town from pastoral joys.
He waited, therefore, till the bridge was behind them, till they
had passed the station, which was close to the bridge;--and then he
began. "Polly," said he, "you know what brings me here."

Polly did know very well, but she was not bound to confess such
knowledge. "You've brought me here, Mr. Moggs, and that's all I
know," she said.

"Yes;--I've brought you here. Polly, what took place last night made
me very unhappy,--very unhappy indeed."

"I can't help that, Mr. Moggs."

"Not that I mean to blame you."

"Blame me! I should think not. Blame me