For answer she nestled closer. "If only you could love me a little, little bit?"
"But I do," said Paul hoarsely.
She shook her head and sobbed afresh, and they stood in close embrace at the end of the room by the door, regardless of the presence of the old man who sat, his back to them, smoking his pipe and looking, with his birdlike crook of the neck, meditatively into the fire. "No, no," said Jane, at last. "It's silly of me. Forgive me. We mustn't talk of such things. Neither of us is fit to—and to-night it's not becoming. I have lost my father and you are only my brother, Paul dear."
Barney Bill broke in suddenly; and at the sound of his voice they moved apart. "Think over it, sonny. Don't go and do anything rash."
"Don't you think it would be wise for Jane to marry me?"
"Ay—for Jane."
"Not for me?"
"It's only wise for a man to marry a woman what he loves," said Barney Bill.
"Well?"
"You said, when we was a-driving here, as you are going to live for the Truth and nothing but the Truth. I only mention it," added the old man drily.