They reached the ground floor; they tottered into the parlour; close upon them followed Mrs.Bubb and Mrs.Clover.Set upon her feet, Polly seemed for a moment about to rush to the window; a second thought led her to the mirror over the mantelpiece, where, fiercely eyeing the reflected group behind her, she made shift to smooth her hair and arrange her dress.

Gammon had sunk upon a chair and was mopping his forehead.

He had suffered far more than Polly in the encounter, and looked indeed, with wild hair, scratched face, burst collar, loose necktie, a startling object.
"Now, then!" the girl moved towards him, fists clenched, as if to renew hostilities.

"What d'you mean by this?
Just you tell me what you mean by it." "As soon as I can get breath, my dear.

I meant to bring you down to speak to your aunt, and I've done it--see ?" "I'm ashamed of you, Mr.Gammon," exclaimed Mrs.Clover severely.