if ever you say such word to Minnie you
never pass my door again."

This seemed to take Mr. Gammon's breath away. After a rather long
silence he looked about for his hat, then for his dog-whip.

"I'll say good night, Mrs. Clover. Hot, isn't it? Hottest day yet. I
say, you're not riled with me? That's all right. See you again before
long."

He did not make straight for home, but rambled in a circuit for the
next hour. When darkness had fallen he found himself again near the
china shop, and paused, for a moment only, by the door. On the opposite
side of the street stood a man who had also paused in a slow walk, and
who also looked towards the shop. But Mr. Gammon went his way without
so much as a glance at that dim figure.

CHAPTER IV

POLLY AND MR. PARISH

Two first-rate quarrels in one day put Polly Sparkes into high good
humour. On leaving her aunt's house in the afternoon she strolled into
Battersea Park, and there treated herself to tea and cakes at a little
round table in the open air. Mrs. Clover, though the quarrel was
prolonged until four o'clock, had offered no refreshments, which seemed
to Miss Sparkes a very gross instance of meanness and inhospitality.

At a table near to her sat two girls, for some reason taking a holiday,
who conversed in a way which proved them to be "mantle hands," and
Polly listened and smiled. Did she not well remember the day when the
poverty of home sent her, a little girl, to be "trotter" in a workroom?
But she soon found her way out of that. A sharp tongue, a bold eye, and
a brilliant complexion helped her on, step by step, or jump by jump,
till she had found much more agreeable ways of supporting herself. All
unimpeachable, for Polly was fiercely virtuous, and put a very high
value indeed upon such affections as she had to dispose of.

The girls were appraising her costume; she felt their eyes and enjoyed
the envy in them. Her hat, with its immense bunch of poppies; her
blouse of shot silk in green and violet; her gold watch, carelessly
drawn out and returned to its pocket. "Now what do you think I am? A
real lady, I'll bet!" She caught a whisper about her hair. Red, indeed!
Didn't they wish they had anything like it! Polly could have told them
that at a ball she graced with her presence not long ago her hair was
done up with no less than seventy-two pins. Think of that! Seventy-two
pins!

She munched a cream tart, and turned her back upon the envious pair.

Ba