'I shall insist upon being believed. There is no evidence--is there?--to prove me wrong.' As she did not answer, he repeated his question, then released her in suspicion. 'What do you know? tell me!' After a very long pause, he said quietly,-- 'I understand. There are many ways of conveying information. I am very blind about some things. Heavens! if I had suspected that truth, either you would not have remained here, or Paul would not have remained here. A priest! Unheard of.... A priest to add to your collection. First Miloradovitch, now Paul. Moths pinned upon a board. He loved you? Oh,' he cried in a passion, 'I see it all: he struggled, you persisted--till you secured him. A joke to you. Not a joke now--surely not a joke, even to you--but a triumph. Am I right? A triumph! A man, dead for you. A priest. You allowed me to talk, knowing all the while.' 'I am very sorry for Paul,' she said absently. He laughed at the pitiably inadequate word. 'Have the courage to admit that you are flattered. More flattered than grieved. Sorry for Paul--yes, toss him that conventional tribute before turning to the luxury of your gratified vanity. That such things can be! Surely men and women live in different worlds?' 'But, Julian, what could I do?' 'He told you he loved you?' She acquiesced, and he stood frowning at her, his hands buried in his pockets and his head thrust forward, picturing the scenes, which had probably been numerous, between her and the priest, letting his imagination play over the anguish of his friend and Eve's indifference. That she had not wholly discouraged him, he was sure. She would not so easily have let him go. Julian was certain, as though he had observed their interviews from a hidden corner, that she had amusedly provoked him, watched him with half-closed, ironical eyes, dropped him a judicious word in her honeyed voice, driven him to despair by her disregard, raised him to joy by her capricious friendliness. They had had every opportunity for meeting. Eve was strangely secretive. All had been carried on unsuspected. At this point he spoke aloud, almost with admiration,-- 'That you, who are so shallow, should be so deep!' A glimpse of her life had been revealed to him, but what secrets remained yet hidden? The veils were lifting from his simplicity; he contemplated, as it were, a new world--Eve's world, ephemerally and clandestinely populated. He contemplated it in fascination, acknowledging that here was an additional, a separate art, insistent for recognition, dominating, imperative, forcing itself impudently upon mankind, exasperating to the straight-minded because it imposed itself, would not be denied, was subtle, pretended so unswervingly to dignity that dignity was accorded it by a credulous humanity--the art which Eve practised, so vain, so cruel, so unproductive, the most fantastically prosperous of impostors! She saw the marvel in his eyes, and smiled slightly. 'Well, Julian?'