"No, indeed—I think your eyes are the most beau—"
"Oh, please, please be serious!"
"As a dozen owls!"
"I—I know," she went on quickly, "I'm sure you haven't always had to live in such—such places as Mulligan's. I know you don't belong here as I do. Is it necessity has driven you to live here or only—curiosity?"
"Well—er—perhaps a little of both," he admitted.
"Then you're not obliged to sell peanuts for a living?"
"'Obliged' is scarcely the word, perhaps; let us call it a peanut penchant, a hobby, a—"
"You are not quite so—poverty-stricken as you pretend?" Her voice was very soft and gentle, but she kept her head averted, also her foot was tapping nervously in its worn shoe.
"Oh, as to money," he answered, "I have enough for my simple needs, but in every other sense I am a miserable pauper. You see, there are some things no money can buy, and they are generally the best things of life."
"And so," said she, interrupting him gently, "you come here to Mulligan's, you deceive every one into thinking you are very poor, you make a pretence of selling peanuts and push a barrow through the streets—why?"