o, had regrets at the
thought of going, as John and she had become fast friends. He told her
that Mr. Brithwood would probably deny his right to be considered a
friend of hers, and would not allow his claim to be thought a gentleman,
though a poor one.

"It is right," he pursued, on her expression of surprise, "that you
should know who and what I am to whom you are giving the honour of your
kindness. Perhaps you ought to have known before; but here at Enderley
we seem to be equals--friends."

"I have indeed felt it so."

"Then you will the sooner pardon my not telling you--what you never
asked, and I was only too ready to forget--that we are _not_ equals--
that is, society would not regard us as such, and I doubt if even you
yourself would wish us to be friends."

"Why not?"

"Because you are a gentlewoman, and I am a tradesman."

She sat--the eyelashes drooping over her flushed cheeks--perfectly
silent. John's voice grew firmer, prouder; there was no hesitation now.

"My calling is, as you will hear at Norton Bury, that of a tanner. I am
apprentice to Abel Fletcher, Phineas's father."

"Mr. Fletcher!" She looked up at him, with a mingled look of kindliness
and pain.

"Ay, Phineas is a little less beneath your notice than I am. He is rich,
and has been well educated; I have had to educate myself. I came to
Norton Bury six years ago--a beggar-boy. No, not quite so bad as that,
for I never begged. I either worked or starved."

The earnestness, the passion of his tone made Miss March lift her eyes,
but they fell again.

"Yes, Phineas found me starving in an alley. We stood in the rain
opposite the mayor's house. A little girl--you know her, Miss March--
came to the door and threw out to me a bit of bread."

Now indeed she started. "You! Was that you?"

John paused, and his whole manner changed into softness as he resumed.

"I never forgot that little girl. Many a time when I was inclined to do
wrong, she kept me right--the remembrance of her sweet face and her
kindness."

That face was pressed against the sofa where she sat. Miss March was all
but weeping.

"I am glad to have met her again," he went on, "and glad to have been
able to do her some small good in return for the infinite good she once
did me. I shall bid her farewell now, at once, and altogether."

A quick, involuntary turn of the hidden face seemed to ask him "Why?"

"Because," John said, "the world says we are not equals; and it would b