"Yes--goin’," said Mr. Chesterton with a look that meant the absolute certainty of his return. "Good-bye, Miss Dealtry--you’ll excuse me runnin’ away, won’t you? Time and tide--they won’t wait, you know--they’re just like a pair o’ children goin’ to a circus. They don’t want to miss nuthin’." Now that was his own, his very own! He had been determined all through their conversation to work in something of his own. _The great_ Mr. Chesterton had never said that! This credit of being another man, and gleaning all the approbation that did not belong to him, had brought with it its moments of remorse, and he longed to win her approval for something that was truly, really his. He looked proudly at John as he said it. He laughed loudly at the thought of the two children dragging at their mother’s hands all the way to the circus. It was a real picture to him. He could see it plainly. He had been one of those children himself once. Time and tide--like a pair o’ children goin’ to a circus! He thought it excellent--good, and he laughed and laughed, till suddenly he realised that John was not even smiling. Then wasn’t it funny after all? Wasn’t it clever? Yet the things which this Mr. Chesterton was reputed to have written, were quite unintelligible to him. "The apple which Eve ate in the Garden of Eden was an orange and the peel has been lying about ever since." Where was the sense in that? How could an apple be an orange. But Time and Tide, like a pair o’ children going to a circus! Oh--he thought it excellent. Then, with a pitiable sensation of failure, he turned in almost an attitude of appeal to Jill. But she was smiling. She was amused. Then there was something in it after all! It had amused her. He held out his hand, feeling a wild inclination to grip it fiercely and bless her for that smile. "Good-bye," said he in his best and most elaborate of manners. "I’m very pleased to have made your acquaintance," and he marched, with head erect, to the door. John followed him. "I’ll just come down with you," he said. As soon as they were outside and the door was closed, he caught the little man’s hand warmly in his. "You’re a brick," said he. "You’re a brick. I’ll let you in whenever you come back--you needn’t be afraid." Mr. Chesterton stopped on the stairs as they descended. "I wouldn’t have done it," he said emphatically--"if it wasn’t that she was a lady as wouldn’t understand the likes of me. I tell you, she’s a sort of lady as I shall never come across again,--not even in my line of business,--bless her heart." He descended another step or so, then stopped once more. "See the way she smiled at that what I said. I tell you, she’s got a nicer sense of understandin’ than what you have." John smiled. "I know she has," said he. "I suppose you didn’t think that clever, what I said?" "Oh, yes, I do--I do. I don’t even think _the_ Mr. Chesterton would have thought of that."