"To tell you the truth, guvnor," he confessed, "I was mixing up my apples and bananas a bit. You see, those at the top were all the best, and it has been my custom to add a few from underneath there--most of them a little going off. It was the only way," he added with a sigh, "that one could make a profit. I have made up my mind, though, to either throw them away or sell them separately for what they are worth, which isn't much. I've had enough of deceiving the public. If I can't get a living honestly with this barrow, I'll try another job." "Do you happen to have eaten anything just lately?" Burton asked him, with a sinking heart. The man looked at his questioner, for a moment, doubtfully. "'Ad my breakfast at seven," he replied. "Just a bite of bread and cheese since, with my morning beer." "Nothing since--not anything at all?" Burton pressed. "I picked up a funny-colored bean and ate it, a few minutes ago. Queer flavor it had, too. Nothing else that I can think of." Burton looked at the man and down at his barrow. He glanced around at the neighborhood in which he had to make a living. Then he groaned softly to himself. "Good luck to you!" he murmured, and turned away. CHAPTER XI THE GATE INTO PARADISE The girl looked up from her seat wonderingly. His coming had been a little precipitate. His appearance, too, betokened a disturbed mind. "There is a front door," she reminded him. "There are also bells." "I could not wait," he answered simply. "I saw the flutter of your gown as I came along the lane, and I climbed the wall. All the way down I fancied that you might be wearing blue." A slight air of reserve which she had carefully prepared for him, faded away. What was the use? He was such an extraordinary person! It was not possible to measure him by the usual standards. She was obliged to smile. "You find blue--becoming?" "Adorable," he replied, fervently. "I have dreamed of you in blue. You wore blue only the night before last, when I wrote my little sketch of 'The Pavements of Bond Street on a Summer Afternoon.'" She pointed to the journal which lay at her feet. "I recognized myself, of course," she declared, trying to speak severely. "It was most improper of you." "It was nothing of the sort," he answered bluntly. "You came into the picture and I could not keep you out. You were there, so you had to stay." "It was much too flattering," she objected. Again he contradicted her. "I could not flatter if I tried," he assured her. "It was just you." She laughed softly. "It is so difficult to argue with you," she murmured. "All the same, I think that it was most improper. But then everything you do is improper. You had no right to climb over that wall, you had no right to walk here with me the other afternoon, even though you had driven away a tame cow. You have no right whatever to be here to-day. What about your wife?"