The girl looked sharply at him.
"Do you mean to say you'd tell? Well, if you call that gentlemanly—"
"Wouldn't tell the truth, Polly, not for as many kisses as there are scratches, my dear."
Polly bridled—young women of her class still bridle—but looked rather pleased. And Gammon chuckled to himself, thinking that all went well.
The rain came, but for all that they had a day of enjoyment, spent chiefly in an arbour, not quite rainproof, on the skittle-ground behind the "Blue Anchor" at Hendon. Continuous was the popping of corks, and frequent were the outbursts of hilarity. Polly did not abandon her reserve with Mr. Gammon; now and then she condescended to smile at his sallies of wit, whereas she screamed at a joke from others. The landlord of the "Blue Anchor" was a widower of about thirty, and had some claims to be considered a lady's man; to him Polly directed her friendly looks and remarks with a freedom which could not but excite attention.
"Is that the fellow that's going to give me a thrashing?" Gammon asked of her at length in an aside.
"Don't be a silly," she answered, turning her back.
"Because, if so, I'd better get the start of him. There's a convenient bit of ground here."
He spoke with such seeming seriousness that Polly showed alarm.
"Don't be a silly, Mr. Gammon. If you misbehave yourself, I'll never speak to you again."