think," Maurice suggested--"of course, I'm not saying you
haven't had plenty of experience--but don't you think there's a
difference between a gentleman and a man who isn't a gentleman?"

"I think gentlemen are the biggest rotters of all."

"I don't agree with you."

"I do. Listen. You asked me just now to come away with you. You didn't
ask me to marry you."

Maurice bubbled over with undelivered explanations.

"Wait. I wouldn't marry you not if you asked me. I don't want you to ask
me. Only------"

"Only what?" Maurice inquired gloomily.

"Only if I did all you wanted, I'd be giving everything--more than you'd
give, even if you married a ballet girl."

"Do let me explain," Maurice begged. "You absolutely misunderstand
me.... Oh, Lord, we're nearly at Hagworth Street.... I've only time to
say quite baldly what I mean. Look here, if you married me you wouldn't
like it. You wouldn't like meeting all my people and having to be
conventional and pay calls and adapt yourself to a life that you hadn't
been brought up to. I'd marry you like a shot. I don't believe in class
distinctions or any of that humbug. But you'd be happier not married.
Can't you see that? You'd be happier the other way.... There's your
turning. There's no time for more.... Only do think over what I've said
and don't misjudge me ... darling girl, good night."

"Good night."

"A long kiss."

Reasons, policies, plans and all the paraphernalia of expediency
vanished when she from the steps of her home listened to the bells of
the hansom dying away in the distance, and when he, huddled in a corner
of the cab, was conscious but of the perfume of one who was lately
beside him.

In her bedroom Jenny examined the brooch. Perhaps what showed more
clearly than anything the reality of her love was the affection she felt
for Maurice when he was away from her. She was never inclined to
criticise the faults so easily forgotten in the charms which she
remembered more vividly. Now, with the brooch before her, as she sat
dangling her legs from the end of the bed, she recalled lovingly his
eagerness to display the unfortunate opal. She remembered the brightness
of his blue eyes and the vibrant attraction of his voice. He was a
darling, and she had been unkind about opals. He was always a darling to
her. He never jarred her nerves or probed roughly a tender mood.

Jenny scarcely sifted so finely her attitude towards Maurice. She summed
him up to herself in a