always preferred a northerly direction, and was never so happy as
when sitting in the inn-parlour amid a group of friends whose voices
rang the purest Cockney. Even in his business he disliked
engagements which took him far from London; his "speciality" (as he
would have said) was town travel, and few men had had more varied
experience in that region of enterprise.

"I'm going to have a look at the bow-wows," he replied to Mrs. Bubb.
"Polly won't come with me; unkind of her, ain't it?"

"Mr. Gammon," remarked the young lady with a severe glance, "I'll
thank you not to be so familiar with my name. If you don't know any
better, let me tell you it's very ungentlemanly."

He rose, doffed his hat, bowed profoundly, and begged her pardon, in
acknowledgment of which Polly gave a toss of the head. Miss Sparkes
was neither beautiful nor stately, but her appearance had the sort
of distinction which corresponds to these qualities in the society
of Kennington Road; she filled an appreciable space in the eyes of
Mr. Gammon; her abundance of auburn hair, her high colour, her full
lips and excellent teeth, her finely-developed bust, and the freedom
of her poses (which always appeared to challenge admiration and
anticipate impertinence) had their effectiveness against a kitchen
background, and did not entirely lose it when she flitted about the
stalls at the theatre selling programmes. She was but
two-and-twenty. Mr. Gammon had reached his fortieth year. In general
his tone of intimacy passed without rebuke; at moments it had seemed
not unacceptable. But Polly's temper was notoriously uncertain, and
her frankness never left people in doubt as to the prevailing mood.