"No, I did not. True, I had not been brought up as other circus children were. But I had a point of view that required years of training to destroy. We won't speak of my father. I don't like to think of him. David, as we used to know him, you and I. There was a time when he was different--and I loved him. But that was long before. I--I think he has gone out of my life altogether." David realized then and there that she should not be kept in the dark regarding her father's whereabouts and designs. She was sensible, she was made of strong timber. She could face the conditions, no matter what they proved to be. The thought was responsible for the irrelevant remark that followed. "I must have a word or two with Mrs. Braddock before I leave to-night." She looked up quickly. "A word concerning--you and me?" she asked. "Yes." Her eyes were lowered again, this time with some of the life gone from them. A shadow crossed her face. "David," she said, "I trust you, I know you are staunch and true. But, dear, are you considering well? Are you sure that you will never regret--this? No, don't speak yet, please. We must be frank with each other. I am not a silly, romantic girl, believe me. I have faced and can still face the real things of life. You are not driving yourself to forget or to overlook all the conditions that surround me, are you? I was a rider. My father was a rider. Oh, you are going to say that my mother was different. But what has that to do with it? What does it matter that she has brought me here, to this home of plenty and of respectability and--well, let us say it, of position. I am the granddaughter of Albert Portman. That may stand for something--yes, it _does_ stand for a great deal. But do not forget, David, dear, that I am the daughter of Tom Braddock. I am the granddaughter of old Stephen Braddock, who was a--a--" "Don't say it, dearest! Why should you be saying all this to me? You, an angel among--" "I must, David," she went on resolutely. "You have come here to ask me to be your wife--to hold me to a promise. You must think all this out in time, David. Please don't laugh in that scornful way. It hurts. I am very serious. Your friends, your people, will welcome me gladly as the granddaughter of Albert Portman, but will they take me, can they accept me, as the granddaughter of Stephen Braddock? As the product of a fashionable convent they may rejoice in me, but as the pupil of the sawdust ring,--as Little Starbright, a thing of spangles! Ah! How about that side of me? Who were my childhood friends and associates? Don't misjudge me. I loved them all--I love them now. They were the best friends and the truest. But could they ever be the friends of your friends?" "They are _my_ friends," he said simply, struck by her earnestness. "Are you forgetting what they meant to me in the old days? And what was I? A fugitive with a price on my head. A--"