“Miss SPARKES”

Gammon laughed over this for half an hour.  He showed it to Mrs. Bubb, who was again on the old terms with him, and Mrs. Bubb wanted to exhibit it to Mrs. Cheeseman.

“No, don’t do that,” he interposed gently.  “We’ll keep it between ourselves.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  The girl can’t help herself; she was born that way, you know.”

“I only hope she won’t pay some rough to follow you at night and bash you,” said Mrs. Bubb warningly.

“I don’t think that.  No, no; Polly’s bark is worse than her bite any day.”

On the evening of that day, about ten o’clock, he chanced to be in Oxford Street, and as he turned southward it occurred to him that he would so far act upon Polly’s invitation as to walk down the Avenue and glance at the house where she lived.  He did so, and it surprised him to see that she had taken up her abode in so mean-looking a place; he was not aware, of course, that.  Miss Waghorn found the quarters good enough for her own more imposing charms and not less brilliant wardrobe.

Walking on, at Cambridge Circus he came face to face with Miss Sparkes herself, accompanied by Miss Waghorn.  To his hat salute and amiable smile Polly replied with a fierce averting of the look.  Her friend nodded cheerfully, and they passed.  Two minutes after he found Miss Waghorn beside him.

“Hallo!  Left Polly?”

“I want you to come back with me, Mr. Gammon,” replied the maiden archly.  “I ’ear you’ve offended Miss Sparkes.  I don’t know what it is, I’m sure, and I don’t ask to be told, ’cause it’s none of my business; but I want to make you friends again, and I’m sure you’ll apologize to her.”

“Eh?  Apologize?  Why, of course I will; only too delighted.”

“That’s nice of you.  I always said you were a nice man, ask Polly if I didn’t.”

“The same to you, my dear, and many of ’em!  Come along.”

As if wholly unaware of what was happening Polly had proceeded homewards, not so fast, however, but that the others overtook her with ease before she reached the house.

“How do you do, Miss Sparkes?” began her enemy, not without diffidence as she turned upon him.  “I’m surprised to hear from Miss Waghorn that something I’ve said or done has riled you, if I may use the expression.  I couldn’t have meant it; I’m sure I ’umbly beg pardon.”

Strange to say, by this imperfect expression of regret, Miss Sparkes allowed herself to be mollified.  Presenting a three-quarter countenance with a forbearing smile, she answered in the formula of her class: 

“Oh, I’m sure it’s granted.”

“There now, we’re all friends again,” said Carrie Waghorn.  “Miss Sparkes is living with me for the present, Mr. Gammon.  There’ll be changes before long”—­she looked about her with prudish embarrassment—­“but, of course, we shall be seeing you again.  Do you know the address, Mr. Gammon?”