As he said it in that way of simple sincerity which made him convincing, both in private life and on the platform, she accepted his statement as the truth. “I don’t know much about business and politics.” “But you know enough to suspect I may be right,” replied he. “My sympathies are with my own class,” said she, rather coldly. “And mine are, naturally, with my class,” said he. There was no ostentation in his reply. But somehow Nell Clearwater felt not quite so well content with her “class”--or with her claim to it. That personal claim now seemed distinctly vulgar in contrast with his dignity. She said: “What was your other reason for not coming?” He gazed directly at her. “Why should I tell it when you know already?” Again she colored. “You are impertinent,” said she haughtily. Then the color flamed, for she instantly realized how she had trapped herself. He laughed with engaging gentleness. “Not impertinent,” he urged. “Not presuming, even.... I don’t want you, Miss Clearwater. I stay away simply because I don’t intend to allow myself to want you.” Into his gray eyes came a look that no woman could fail to understand. “If I did want you----” He smiled, and she drew back sharply--“If I did want you, I’d act very differently.” She forced a scornful laugh. “Do you think _you_ could possibly have any hope with me?” “I do,” was his firm reply. “I didn’t until to-day. Now I--know it.” “What vanity!” “No. Not vanity. Intuition. The fact that you brought the subject up and insisted on discussing it proves that you have thought about it seriously.” “Really!” exclaimed she, with angry irony. “Really,” replied he--and she refused to meet his gaze. “Not as much as I have, because you have more of that sort of things in your life than I have in mine. No, not nearly as much. But seriously. And because you are truthful you will not deny it.” She repeated the slight derisive laugh. She accompanied it with a derisive glance that swept down and up his baggy clothing, his homely exterior--but avoided his kind, gently smiling gray eyes. He was not deceived. It set his blood to tingling to feel that he could weave about one person, this one person, the same spell with which he could bind the multitude. He went on: “Working together at that broken automobile we got unusually well acquainted, very quickly--you and I--the real you and the real I.... I had never before met a woman of your kind--of your class, I suppose you’d say. And neither had you ever met a man of my kind.” “Yes--that was it,” she said unsteadily. “But, as I said before, I do not want you,” he went on and, hearing, you would have realized why he had such power as an orator. “Even if I could get you, I should not know what to do with you. So--if we ever talk together again, it will not be through my seeking.”