"Good night.

Jolly long walk before me still." "I'm very sorry.

I am, really." "Oh, never mind! When shall I see you again ?" The crucial moment was past.

Polly drew a step back and held the door.
"I'll write before long.

Good night, and thank you." Mr.Parish plodded away down the avenue, saying to himself that he was blest if he'd be made a fool of like this much longer.
The next morning Polly wrote a line to Mr.Gammon, and two days later, on Sunday, they met in that little strip of garden on the Embankment which lies between Charing Cross Station and Waterloo Bridge.