"You can't do it. You can't do it, I tell you. It's impossible." "Why?" He replied in an odd voice, and with a glance at Miss Winwood. "I must tell you afterwards." "I will leave you," she said. "Mr. Finn"--she shook hands with him--"I hope you're proud of your son." And then she shook hands with Jane and Barney Bill. "I'm glad to meet such old friends of Paul." And to Paul, as he held the door open, she said, her clear kind eyes full on him, "Remember, we want men in England." "Thank God, we've got women," said he, with lips from which he could not keep a sudden quiver. He closed the door and came up to his father standing on the hearthrug. "And now, why shouldn't I speak? Why shouldn't I be an honest man instead of an impostor?" "Out of pity for me, my son." "Pity? Why, what harm would it do you? There's nothing dishonourable in father and son fighting an election." He laughed without much mirth. "It's what some people would call sporting. As for me, personally, I don't see why you should be ashamed of owning me. My record is clean enough." "But mine isn't, Paul," said Silas mournfully. For the first time Paul bowed his head. "I'm sorry," said he. "I forgot." Then he raised it again. "But that's all over and buried in the past." "It may be unburied." "How?" "Don't you see?" cried Jane. "Even I can. If you spring your relationship upon the public, it will create an enormous sensation--it will set the place on fire with curiosity. They'll dig up everything they can about you--everything they can about him. Oh, Paul, don't you see. "It's up agin a man, sonny," said Barney Bill, limping towards them, "it's up agin a candidate, you understand, him not being a Fenian or a Irish patriot, that he's been in gaol. Penal servitude ain't a nice state of life to be reminded of, sonny. Whereas if you leaves things as they is, nobody's going to ask no questions." "That's my point," said Silas Finn. Paul looked from one to the other, darkly. In a kind of dull fierce passion he had made up his mind to clear himself before the world, to rend to tatters his garments of romance, to snap his fingers at the stars and destiny and such-like deluding toys, to stand a young Ajax defying the thunderbolts. Here came the first check. "If they found out as how he'd done time, they'd find out for why," said Bill, cocking his head earnestly.