Mr. Polly felt round his collar at the thought.
“Ain’t you going to kiss me, Elfrid, now we’re alone together?”
He roused himself to sit forward hands on knees, cocked his hat over one eye, and assumed an expression of avidity becoming to the occasion.
“Never!” he said. “Ever!” and feigned to be selecting a place to kiss with great discrimination.
“Come here,” he said, and drew her to him.
“Be careful of my ’at,” said Mrs. Polly, yielding awkwardly.
Chapter the Seventh
The Little Shop at Fishbourne
I
For fifteen years Mr. Polly was a respectable shopkeeper in Fishbourne.