"Very little has happened to change me," said Jane.
The cab lumbered on through dull, dimly lit, residential roads. Only by the swinging gleam of an occasional street lamp could Paul distinguish the faces of his companions. "I hope you're on our side, Mr. Finn," he said politely to his host, who sat on the small back seat.
"I don't disagree with much that you said to-night. But you are on the side of wealth and aristocracy. I am on the side of the downtrodden and oppressed."
"But so am I," cried Paul. "The work of every day of my life tends to help them."
"You're a Conservative and I'm a Radical."
"What do labels matter? We're both attacking the same problem, only from different angles."
"Very likely, Mr. Savelli; but you'll pardon me if, according to my political creed, I regard your angle as an obtuse one."
Paul wondered greatly who he could be, this grave, intelligent friend of Barney Bill's, who spoke with such dignity and courtesy. In his speech was a trace of rough accent; but his words were chosen with precision.
"You think we glance off, whereas your attack is more direct," laughed Paul.
"That is so. I hope you don't mind my saying it. You were the challenger."