"No hurry," Gammon remarked, after humming through a tune. "Think it out. Only a line or two."
"Are you telling me the truth about my letter?" she suddenly asked. "You haven't read it?"
"I assure you I haven't. That's a treat for when I get home."
Still she delayed, but before Gammon had taken many more steps she was seated at the table, and biting the end of the penholder.
"You'll have to tell me what to say."
"All right. Take the words down."
He dictated with all possible brevity. The letter was folded and enclosed. Only in the last few minutes had Gammon quite decided to share his knowledge with Polly. As she bent her head and wrote, something in the attitude—perhaps a suggestion of domesticity—appealed to his emotions, which were ready for such a juncture as this. After all there were not many girls prettier than Polly, or with more of the attractiveness of their sex. He looked, looked till he could not turn away.
"Now then for the address. I'll write it on this piece of paper, and you shall copy it."
Polly watched him, puzzled by the nervous grin on his face. She took the paper, on which he had written as legibly as he could—
"Lord Polperro,
16, Lowndes Mansions,
Sloane Street,
S.W."