He lifted his hat on her approach. "I beg your pardon, Miss Bolitho," he said, "but may I presume on your kindness a little?" The girl looked at him in astonishment. Perhaps she was a little angry too, for the footpath on which he met her was in a somewhat lonely district. "I know I'm very rude in stopping you in this way," went on Paul, as though he divined her feelings, "and I would not have done so had not the reason seemed to me sufficient. Besides"--and there was a touch of anger in his voice--"it seems to me that it would not only be generous on your part if you would, but just." As he spoke she could not help reflecting on the change that had come over him since he first spoke to her on the night following his release from prison. Then he was rude, almost truculent; now, even while he seemed angry, his demeanour suggested a refinement of feeling which did not manifest itself then. "Of course, you know who I am," he went on. "I am Paul Stepaside, and I am your father's opponent in this political contest." "Is it about the election that you wish to speak to me?" she asked. "Yes, and no," replied Paul. "Perhaps the contest may be called the occasion of my asking you to speak with me, but the reason lies deeper. I am sure you do not wish to be unjust?" "I think," she replied, "if you wish to say anything about the election, that you had better seek an interview with my father. He will be in Brunford to-morrow." "It's not to your father that I wish to speak," he replied. "I am altogether at a loss," said Mary Bolitho, "to know what there can be that you wish to discuss with me." He could not mistake the tones in which she spoke. He knew, instinctively, that she did not regard him as belonging to her own class. Her every word suggested to him that he was to her an outsider, one to whom she could speak only as an inferior. A thousand things which he thought he wanted to say to her had altogether escaped him, and for a few seconds he stood dumb and confused. "Of course, it is about this election, in a way," he stammered presently. "I--I--you see, it means a great deal to me----" And then he ceased speaking again. Somehow the words would not come. He saw the smile of contempt which passed over her face, and he thought he understood the meaning of it. Perhaps it was the best thing that could have happened to him, for now his anger was aroused, and he saw his way clearly. "No, no, Miss Bolitho. Do not think that I have come to whine to you, or to make complaints in any way--that is about the things you are thinking of. It's not that. I am prepared to fight my battle without seeking quarter in any direction--that is, any direction that is fair. I have never had a public-school education, but I think I know the meaning of the term, 'Playing the game.'" She looked puzzled for a minute, and then he saw a flush mount her face. "I am afraid I do not understand you!"