“Miss Milton—I’m a liar.” He put his head on one side and regarded her with a frown of tremendous resolution. Then in measured accents, and moving his head slowly from side to side, he announced, “Ay’m a deraper.” “You’re a draper? I thought—” “You thought wrong. But it’s bound to come up. Pins, attitude, habits—It’s plain enough. “I’m a draper’s assistant let out for a ten-days holiday. Jest a draper’s assistant. Not much, is it? A counter-jumper.” “A draper’s assistant isn’t a position to be ashamed of,” she said, recovering, and not quite understanding yet what this all meant. “Yes, it is,” he said, “for a man, in this country now. To be just another man’s hand, as I am. To have to wear what clothes you are told, and go to church to please customers, and work—There’s no other kind of men stand such hours. A drunken bricklayer’s a king to it.” “But why are you telling me this now?” “It’s important you should know at once.” “But, Mr. Benson—” “That isn’t all. If you don’t mind my speaking about myself a bit, there’s a few things I’d like to tell you. I can’t go on deceiving you. My name’s not Benson. _Why_ I told you Benson, I _don’t_ know. Except that I’m a kind of fool. Well—I wanted somehow to seem more than I was. My name’s Hoopdriver.” “Yes?” “And that about South Africa—and that lion.” “Well?” “Lies.” “Lies!” “And the discovery of diamonds on the ostrich farm. Lies too. And all the reminiscences of the giraffes—lies too. I never rode on no giraffes. I’d be afraid.” He looked at her with a kind of sullen satisfaction. He had eased his conscience, anyhow. She regarded him in infinite perplexity. This was a new side altogether to the man. “But _why_,” she began. “Why did I tell you such things? _I_ don’t know. Silly sort of chap, I expect. I suppose I wanted to impress you. But somehow, now, I want you to know the truth.” Silence. Breakfast untouched. “I thought I’d tell you,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “I suppose it’s snobbishness and all that kind of thing, as much as anything. I lay awake pretty near all last night thinking about myself; thinking what a got-up imitation of a man I was, and all that.” “And you haven’t any diamond shares, and you are not going into Parliament, and you’re not—” “All Lies,” said Hoopdriver, in a sepulchral voice. “Lies from beginning to end. ’Ow I came to tell ’em I _don’t_ know.” She stared at him blankly. “I never set eyes on Africa in my life,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, completing the confession. Then he pulled his right hand from his pocket, and with the nonchalance of one to whom the bitterness of death is passed, began to drink his coffee. “It’s a little surprising,” began Jessie, vaguely. “Think it over,” said Mr. Hoopdriver. “I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart.”