"But why shouldn't clever people go and work in shops?" persisted May, in her half-childish way--"not that I mean I am clever; that would be too conceited. But I am sure it would be a great deal better for shops if they had the very cleverest people to work in them." "It depends on the kind of cleverness," he told her. "With regard to one sort you are right, of course; with respect to another it would not answer, and it would be horrible waste." She opened her brown eyes wide. "Why do you waste your abilities and college education?" she asked him naively--"not that everybody calls it a waste; some people say 'Robinson's' is the high-class shop it is, because its masters have not only been respectable people, they have always been educated men and gentlemen." "I ought to say for myself and my predecessors that I am much obliged to 'some people' for acknowledging that," he remarked coolly. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Robinson," said May humbly. "I know I have been very rude--I am constantly saying stupid things." "Not at all; and though you did, never mind--say them to me if you like," he gave her _carte blanche_ to comfort her. "But look here, Miss May, I don't wish you to make mistakes. Indeed it is my duty, since I am a great deal older than you--old enough to be, well, your uncle I should say--to prevent it if I can." "I don't see how you could be my uncle," said May bluntly, "when you are not more than five or six years older than Annie--I have heard her say so--you are more like my brother." The instant she mentioned the relationship to which he had aspired in vain, she felt the blood tingling to her finger-tips, and she could see him redden under the shade of his soft felt hat. May groaned inwardly. "Oh! I am a blundering goose; I wonder anybody can be so infatuated as to think me clever."