t's getting late, sonny."

Paul looked at his watch. It was past one o'clock. He jumped up. "I
hope to goodness you haven't to begin work at half-past five," he said
to Jane.

"No. At eight." She rose as he stretched out his hand. "You don't know
what it is to see you again, Paul. I can't tell you. Some things are
upsetting. But I'm glad. Oh, yes, I'm glad, Paul dear. Don't think I'm
not."

Her voice broke a little. They were the first gentle words she had
given him all the evening. Paul smiled and kissed her hand as he had
kissed that of the princess, and, still holding it, said: "Don't I know
you of old? And if you suppose I haven't thought of you and felt the
need of you, you're very much mistaken. Now I've found you, I'm not
going to let you go again."

She turned her head aside and looked down; there was the slightest
movement of her plump shoulders. "What's the good? I can't do anything
for you now, and you can't do anything for me. You're on the way to
becoming a great man. To me, you're a great man already. Don't you see?"

"My dear, I was an embryonic Shelley, Raphael, Garrick, and Napoleon
when you first met me," he said jestingly.

"But then you didn't belong to their--to their sphere. Now you do. Your
friends are lords and ladies and--and princesses--"

"My friends," cried Paul, "are people with great true hearts--like the
Winwoods--and the princess, if you like--and you, and Barney Bill."

"That's a sentiment as does you credit," said the old man. "Great true
hearts! Now if you ain't satisfied, my dear, you're a damn criss-cross
female. And yer ain't, are yer?' She laughed and Paul laughed. The
little spell of intensity was broken. There were pleasant leave-takings.

"I'll set you on your road a bit," said Barney Bill. "I live in the
neighbourhood. Good-bye, Jane."

She went with them to the front door, and stood in the gusty air
watching them until they melted into the darkness.

CHAPTER XIV

BETWEEN the young man of immaculate vesture, of impeccable manners, of
undeniable culture, of instinctive sympathy with the great world where
great things are done, of unerring tact, of mythological beauty and
charm, of boundless ambition, of resistless energy, of incalculable
promise, in outer semblance and in avowed creed the fine flower of
aristocratic England, professing the divine right of the House of Lords
and the utilitarian sanctity of the Church of England--between Paul,
that is to say, an