"When dinner's over, Peter and I must start," he said. "You refused to go to the Mission. I want to know what this implies."
Margaret gave him a level glance. "Isn't it plain, Jimmy? You know my father, and now you have met my relations. They are not your sort."
"So far as I know, they're a remarkably good sort," Jimmy rejoined. "Besides, in a way, I am their sort. My grandfather was a mill hand; my father borrowed a small sum, and started with cheap machinery to spin cotton at a little old-fashioned mill. He was frugal and laborious; in fact, he prospered because he had your bushman's qualities. I have loafed and squandered, but after a time I felt I'd had enough and began to see I'd inherited something from the people who made Leyland's go. Then, if we must talk about our relations, you don't know my uncle Dick. Well, I've stated something like this before, but it's my reply to your argument."
"But you mean to go back to Lancashire, and when you marry your wife ought——"
"To begin with, I doubt if the police will allow me to go back. Then, if I can't get you, I don't want a wife!"
"Yet, not very long since, it looked as if you might be satisfied with Miss Stannard."
The blood came to Jimmy's skin, and to conquer his embarrassment was hard.
"I don't think you're kind. Well, I'm young and, until I met Stannard, I was very raw. All I knew was the cotton mill, and I expect Laura carried me away. But I was not altogether a fool; Laura Stannard is a charming girl. The obstacle was, she saw I was not the man for her. Then I did not know you."
Margaret smiled, but her smile was gentle. "Perhaps I was not kind. You're stanch and my experiment was shabby."
"Your remark was justified. Anyhow, it's not important. If I can cheat the police and get back to Lancashire, will you marry me, Margaret?"