"Can you, David? I'm afraid not. You have a way of bewildering me, so I can't see the rights and wrongs of things myself. But there! It is just part of the difference. Why, even the nursemaids over there, and Hetty Giles, the landlady's daughter, are wiser than I. I came to see it every instant, the difference between you and me—between our two worlds. David, how did you ever dare marry me?"
He only laughed happily and kissed her. "Tell it all," he said tenderly.
"I felt it first when I went to the town house. It was hard to find the address. I only had Mr. Stretton's." David set his teeth grimly in anger at himself at giving her only his lawyer's address, in stupid fear lest her letters betray him to his mother and sister.
"Now, do not hide one thing from me—not one," he said sternly, and she continued, with a conscientious fear of disobedience, to open her heart.
"I saw by the look in the old man's eyes that I had not done the right thing, coming in that way with a baby in my arms, like a beggar. I saw he was very curious, and I was that proud I didn't know what to tell him I had come for, when I found you were not there, so when he said artists often came to see the gallery, I said I had come to see the gallery; and David, I didn't even know what a gallery was. I thought it was a high piazza around a house, and I found it was a great room full of pictures. I was