One evening Gammon went to look for himself at the house in Stanhope Gardens; he hung about the place for half an hour, but saw nothing of interest or importance.

He walked once or twice along Shaftesbury Avenue, but did not chance to meet Polly, and could not make up his mind to beg an interview with her.

At the end of a fortnight Greenacre wrote, and that evening they met again at the obscure house of entertainment.
"It is not often," said Greenacre, in a despondent tone, "that I have found an inquiry so difficult.

Of course it interests me all the more, and I shall go on with it, but I must freely confess that I've got nothing yet--absolutely nothing." Gammon observed him vigilantly.
"Do you know what has occurred to me ?" pursued the other, with a half melancholy droop of the head.

"I really begin to fear that the young lady, your friend, may have made a mistake." "How can that be, when he met her twice and talked with her ?" "You didn't tell me that," replied Greenacre, as if surprised.
"No, I didn't mention it.