"Don’tcher really, now? Don’tcher really?" John had not smiled; but this--well, of course, this made up for everything. _The_ Mr. Chesterton would not have thought of Time and Tide being like a pair of children goin’ to a circus! Now, if he were to write that and a few other things like it, which he dared say he could think of easily enough, he, too, might be a great man whose name would be on the lips of such women as that perfect little lady upstairs. Then she _would_ understand the likes of him. "Then you think I suited the part?" he said cheerfully at the door. "I think, under the circumstances and everything being considered, you did it wonderfully," said John. "And as for your being good enough to trust me--well--it’s finer than all the epigrams in the world." He wrung his hand once more and the little man departed happily down the Lane, thinking of all the clever things that he would say to his old woman when eventually he got home. But--Time and Tide, like a pair of children--he knew he’d never beat that. She had smiled at it. She had thought it clever. The other things that came laboriously into his mind as he walked down the Lane, were not a patch on it. The moment John had closed the door, he flew upstairs. "Well--what do you think of _the great_ Mr. Chesterton?" he asked with a laugh. "I do not think his conversation is nearly as good as his writing," said Jill. "But you smiled at that last thing he said." "Yes, I know." She explained it first with her eyes and then, "He was going," she added--"and I think it must have been relief." John’s heart thumped. A light of daring blazed in his eyes. It was relief! She was glad to be alone with him! This meant more than the look of disappointment. He had crossed the room, found himself beside her, found her hand gripped fiercely in his before he realised that he had obeyed the volition to do so. "You wanted us to be alone?" he whispered. "Yes--I’ve got a lot I want to say." Had the moment not been such as this, he would have caught the note of pain that vibrated in her voice; but he was in the whirlwind of his love. It was deafening in his ears, it was blinding in his eyes; because then he knew she loved him also. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. Her hand was to his lips and he was kissing every finger. Presently he held her hand to him and looked up. "You knew this," he said--"didn’t you? You knew this was bound to be?" She bent her head. "I don’t know what it means," he went on passionately. "I haven’t the faintest idea what it means. I love you--that’s all. You mean everything to me. But I can’t ask you to marry me. It wouldn’t be fair." A thought of Mr. Chesterton rushed across his mind. "I--I can barely keep myself in rooms like these. I couldn’t keep you. So I suppose I haven’t a moment’s right to say one of these things to you. But I had to say them. You knew I was going to say them--didn’t you--Jill--my Jill--you knew--didn’t you?"