“I know nothing of business, Sir Robert; my tastes do not lie that way.”

“You know well that I was not speaking of business, Miss Champers.  I was speaking of another kind of partnership, that which Nature has ordained between men and women—­marriage.  Will you accept me as a husband?”

She opened her lips to speak, but he lifted his hand and went on.  “Listen before you give that ready answer which it is so hard to recall, or smooth away.  I know all my disadvantages, my years, which to you may seem many; my modest origin; my trade, which, not altogether without reason, you despise and dislike.  Well, the first two cannot be changed except for the worse; the second can be, and already is, buried beneath the gold and ermine of wealth and titles.  What does it matter if I am the son of a City clerk who never earned more than L2 a week and was born in a tenement at Battersea, when I am one of the rich men of this rich land and shall die a peer in a palace, leaving millions and honours to my children?  As for the third, my occupation, I am prepared to give it up.  It has served my turn, and after next week I shall have earned the amount that years ago I determined to earn.  Thenceforth, set above the accidents of fortune, I propose to devote myself to higher aims, those of legitimate ambition.  So far as my time would allow I have already taken some share in politics as a worker; I intend to continue in them as a ruler which I still have the health and ability to do.  I mean to be one of the first men in this Empire, to ride to power over the heads of all the nonentities whose only claim upon the confidence of their countrymen is that they were born in a certain class, with money in their pockets and without the need to spend the best of their manhood in work.  With you at my side I can do all these things and more, and such is the future that I have to offer you.”

Again she would have broken in upon his speech and again he stopped her, reading the unspoken answer on her lips.

“Listen:  I have not told you all.  Perhaps I have put first what should have come last.  I have not told you that I love you earnestly and sincerely, with the settled, unalterable love that sometimes comes to men in middle-age who have never turned their thought that way before.  I will not attempt the rhapsodies of passion which at my time of life might sound foolish or out of place; yet it is true that I am filled with this passion which has descended on me and taken possession of me.  I who often have laughed at such things in other men, adore you.  You are a joy to my eyes.  If you are not in the room, for me it is empty.  I admire the uprightness of your character, and even your prejudices, and to your standard I desire to approximate my own.  I think that no man can ever love you quite so well as I do, Barbara Champers.  Now speak.  I am ready to meet the best or the worst.”

After her fashion Barbara looked him straight in the face with her steady eyes, and answered gently enough, for the man’s method of presenting his case, elaborate and prepared though it evidently was, had touched her.