"
"And you'll leave here without a regret?"
"I didn't say that sure."
"We've been good friends, haven't we?"
"I thought we were," she answered gently. "But friendship must be
honest. Why didn't ye tell me ye were a gentleman? Sure, how was I
to know? 'Jerry' might mean anybody. Why didn't ye tell me ye had a
title?"
"I did nothing to get it. Just inherited it," he said simply. Then
he added: "I'd drop it altogether if I could."
"Would ye?" she asked curiously.
"I would. And as for being a gentleman, why one of the finest I ever
met drove a cab in Piccadilly. He was a GENTLE MAN--that is--one who
never willingly hurts another. Strange in a cabman, eh? "
"Why did ye let me treat ye all the time as an equal?"
"Because you ARE--superior in many things. Generosity, for
instance."
"Oh, don't thry the comther on me. I know ye now. Nothin' seems the
same."
"Nothing?"
"Nothin'!"
"Are we never to play like children again?" he pleaded.
"No," she said firmly. "Ye'll have to come out to New York to do it.
An' then I mightn't."
"Will nothing make you stay?"
"Nothing. I'm just achin' for me home."
"Such as this could never be home to you?"
"This? Never," she replied positively.
"I'm sorry. Will you ever think of me?" He waited.
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