asked. I shouldn't wonder if she says the same to you; but it's your
plain duty to have a talk with her, don't you think so now?"

To have a talk with Polly, especially on such a subject, was no easy
or pleasant undertaking for Mr. Sparkes, who had so long resigned
all semblance of parental authority. But as a conscientious man he
could not stand aside when his only surviving daughter seemed in
peril. After an exchange of post cards a meeting took place between
them on the Embankment below Waterloo Bridge, for neither father nor
child had anything in the nature of a home beyond the indispensable
bedroom, and their only chance of privacy was in the open air.
Having no desire to quarrel with her parent (it would have been so
very one-sided and uninspiriting) Polly began in a conciliatory
tone.

"Aunt Louisa's been making a bother, has she? Just like her. Don't
you listen to her fussicking, dad. What's all the row about? I've
had a present given to me; well, what of that? You can look at it
for yourself. I can't tell you who give it me, 'cos I've promised I
wouldn't; but you'll know some day, and then you'll larff. It ain't
nothing to fret your gizzard about; so there. I'm old enough to look
after myself, and if I ain't I never shall be; so there."

This did not satisfy Mr. Sparkes. He saw that the watch and chain
were certainly valuable, and he could not imagine how the girl had
become honourably possessed of them, save as the gift of an admirer;
but the mere fact of such an admirer's exacting secrecy implied a
situation of danger.

"I don't like the look of it, Polly," he remarked; with a nervous