"Who came in just now, miss?"
"The gentleman for the young lydy, sir."
"By jorrocks!"
Gammon mounted the stairs at break-neck speed and burst into the private sitting-room. There stood Polly, with her head up, looking pert indignation and surprise, and before her stood Greenacre, discoursing in his politest tone.
"What are you doing here?" asked Gammon breathlessly. "What are you up to, eh?"
"Ah, Gammon, how do you do? I'm glad you've dropped in. Let us sit down and have a quiet talk."
The man of mystery was very well dressed, very cool, more than equal to the situation. He took for granted the perfect friendliness of both Polly and Gammon, smiled from one to the other, and as he seated himself, drew out a cigarette case.
"I'm sure Miss Sparkes won't mind. I have already apologized, Gammon, for the necessity of introducing myself. You, I am sure, will forgive me when you learn the position of affairs. I'm so glad you happened to drop in."
Declining a cigarette, Gammon stared about him in angry confusion. He had no words ready. Greenacre's sang-froid, though it irritated him excessively, shamed him into quiet behaviour.
"When you entered, Gammon, I was just explaining to Miss Sparkes that I am here on behalf of her uncle, Lord Polperro."