He awoke with dismay to the fact that Fru Thyregod had taken off her hat. She had a great quantity of soft, yellow hair into which she ran her fingers, lifting its weight as though oppressed. He supposed that the gesture was not so irrelevant to their foregoing conversation, of which he had not noticed a word, as it appeared to be. He was startled to find himself saying in a tone of commiseration,-- 'Yes, it must be very heavy.' 'I wish that I could cut it all off,' Fru Thyregod cried petulantly. 'Why, to amuse you, only look....' and to his horror she withdrew a number of pins and allowed her hair to fall in a really beautiful cascade over her shoulders. She smiled at him, parting the strands before her eyes. At that moment Eve and Miloradovitch came into view, wandering side by side down the path. Of the four, Miloradovitch alone was amused. Julian was full of a shamefaced anger towards Fru Thyregod, and between the two women an instant enmity sprang into being like a living and visible thing. The Russian drew near to Fru Thyregod with some laughing compliment; she attached herself desperately to him as a refuge from Julian. Julian and Eve remained face to face with one another. 'Walk with me a little,' she said, making no attempt to disguise her fury. 'My dear Eve,' he said, when they were out of earshot, 'I should scarcely recognise you when you put on that expression.' He spoke frigidly. She was indeed transformed, her features coarsened and unpleasing, her soft delicacy vanished. He could not believe that he had ever thought her rare, exquisite, charming. 'I don't blame you for preferring Fru Thyregod,' she returned. 'I believe your vanity to be so great that you resent any man speaking to any other woman but yourself,' he said, half persuading himself that he was voicing a genuine conviction. 'Very well, if you choose to believe that,' she replied. They walked a little way in angry silence. 'I detest all women,' he added presently. 'Including me?' 'Beginning with you.' He was reminded of their childhood with its endless disputes, and made an attempt to restore their friendship. 'Come, Eve, why are we quarrelling? I do not make you jealous scenes about Miloradovitch.' 'Far from it,' she said harshly. 'Why should he want to marry you?' he began, his anger rising again. 'What qualities have you? Clever, seductive, and entertaining! But, on the other hand, selfish, jealous, unkind, pernicious, indolent, vain. A bad bargain. If he knew you as well as I.... Jealousy! It amounts to madness.' 'I am perhaps not jealous where Miloradovitch is concerned,' she said. 'Then spare me the compliment of being jealous of me. You wreck affection; you will wreck your life through your jealousy and exorbitance.'