Barney Bill broke in suddenly; and at the sound of his voice they moved apart.  “Think over it, sonny.  Don’t go and do anything rash.”

“Don’t you think it would be wise for Jane to marry me?”

“Ay—­for Jane.”

“Not for me?”

“It’s only wise for a man to marry a woman what he loves,” said Barney Bill.

“Well?”

“You said, when we was a-driving here, as you are going to live for the Truth and nothing but the Truth.  I only mention it,” added the old man drily.

Jane recovered herself, with a gulp in the throat, and before Paul could answer said:  “We too had a talk to-day, Paul.  Remember,” her voice quavered a little—­“about carrots.”

“You were right in essence,” said Paul, looking at her gravely.  “But I should have my incentive.  I know my own mind.  My affection for you is of the deepest.  That is Truth—­I needn’t tell you.  We could lead a happy and noble life together.”

“We belong to two different social classes, Paul,” she said gently, again sitting in the straight-backed chair by the table.

“We don’t,” he replied.  “I repudiated my claims to the other class this evening.  I was admitted into what is called high society, partly because people took it for granted that I was a man of good birth.  Now that I’ve publicly proclaimed that I’m not—­and the newspapers will pretty soon find out all about me now—­I’ll drop out of that same high society.  I shan’t seek readmittance.”

“People will seek you.”

“You don’t know the world,” said he.

“It must be mean and horrid.”

“Oh, no.  It’s very just and honourable.  I shan’t blame it a bit for not wanting me.  Why should I?  I don’t belong to it.”

“But you do, dear Paul,” she cried earnestly.  “Even if you could get rid of your training and mode of thought, you can’t get rid of your essential self.  You’ve always been an aristocrat, and I’ve always been a small shop-keeper’s daughter and shall continue to be one.”

“And I say,” Paul retorted, “that we’ve both sprung from the people, and are of the people.  You’ve raised yourself above the small shop-keeping class just as much as I have.  Don’t let us have any sham humility about it.  Whatever happens you’ll always associate with folk of good-breeding and education.  You couldn’t go back to Barn Street.  It would be idiotic for me to contemplate such a thing for my part.  But between Barn Street and Mayfair there’s a refined and intellectual land where you and I can meet on equal ground and make our social position.  What do you say?”

She did not look at him, but fingered idly the cards on the tray.  “To-morrow you will think differently.  To-night you’re all on the strain.”

“And, axing yer pardon, sonny, for chipping in,” said the old man, holding up his pipe in his gnarled fingers, “you haven’t told her as how you loves her—­not as how a young woman axed in marriage ought to be told.”