uestion arose naturally out of a train of thought which always
occupies me when I talk with you. I myself belong to no class whatever,
and I can't help wondering how--if the subject ever occurred to
you--you would place me.'

He saw his way now, and, having said thus much, could talk on
defiantly. This hour must decide his fortune with Sidwell, yet his
tongue utterly refused any of the modes of speech which the situation
would have suggested to an ordinary mind. He could not 'make love'.
Instead of humility, he was prompted to display a rough arrogance;
instead of tender phrases, he uttered what sounded like deliberate
rudeness. His voice was less gently tuned than Sidwell had been wont to
hear it. It all meant that he despaired of wooing successfully, and
more than half wished to force some word from Sidwell which would spare
him the necessity of a plain avowal.

But before he had finished speaking, her face changed. A light of
sudden understanding shone in her eyes; her lips softened to a smile of
exquisite gentleness.

'The subject never _did_ occur to me,' she answered. 'How should it? A
friend is a friend.'

It was not strictly true, but in the strength of her emotion she could
forget all that contradicted it.

'A friend--yes.'

Godwin began with the same note of bluntness. But of a sudden he felt
the influence of Sidwell's smile. His voice sank into a murmur, his
heart leapt, a thrill went through his veins.

'I wish to be something more than a friend.'

He felt that it was bald, inadequate. Yet the words had come of their
own accord, on an impulse of unimpaired sincerity. Sidwell's head was
bent.

'That is why I can't take simple things for granted,' he continued, his
gaze fixed upon her. 'If I thought of nothing but friendship, it would
seem rational enough that you should accept me for what I am--a man of
education, talking your own language. Because I have dared to hope
something more, I suffer from the thought that I was not born into your
world, and that you must be always remembering this difference.'

'Do you think me so far behind the age?' asked Sidwell, trying to laugh.

'Classes are getting mixed, confused. Yes, but we are so conscious of
the process that we talk of class distinctions more than of anything
else,--talk and think of them incessantly. You have never heard me make
a profession of Radicalism; _I_ am decidedly behind the age. Be what I
may--and I have spiritual pride more than