Hilliard revived his memories of Gower Place--of the streets of Paris. Nothing preternatural had come about; nothing that he had not forecasted in his hours of hope. But there were incidents in the past which this moment blurred away into the region of dreamland, and which he shrank from the effort of reinvesting with credibility. "This is a pleasant garden." Eve had approached him as he stood musing, after a conversation with other ladies. "Rather new, of course; but a year will do wonders. Have you seen the chrysanthemums?" She led him apart, as they stood regarding the flowers, Hilliard was surprised by words that fell from her. "Your contempt for me is beyond expression, isn't it?" "It is the last feeling I should associate with you," he answered. "Oh, but be sincere. We have both learnt to speak another language--you no less than I. Let me hear a word such as you used to speak. I know you despise me unutterably." "You are quite mistaken. I admire you very much." "What--my skill? Or my dress?" "Everything. You have become precisely what you were meant to be." "Oh, the scorn of that!" "I beg you not to think it for a moment. There was a time when I might have found a foolish pleasure in speaking to you with sarcasm. But that has long gone by." "What am I, then?" "An English lady--with rather more intellect than most." Eve flushed with satisfaction. "It's more than kind of you to say that. But you always had a generous spirit. I never thanked you. Not one poor word. I was cowardly--afraid to write. And you didn't care for my thanks." "I do now." "Then I thank you. With all my heart, again and again!" Her voice trembled under fulness of meaning. "You find life pleasant?" "You do, I hope?" she answered, as they paced on. "Not unpleasant, at all events. I am no longer slaving under the iron gods. I like my work, and it promises to reward me." Eve made a remark about a flower-bed. Then her voice subdued again. "How do you look back on your great venture--your attempt to make the most that could be made of a year in your life?" "Quite contentedly. It was worth doing, and is worth remembering." "Remember, if you care to," Eve resumed, "that all I am and have I owe to you. I was all but lost--all but a miserable captive for the rest of my life. You came and ransomed me. A less generous man would have spoilt his work at the last moment. But you were large minded enough to support my weakness till I was safe." Hilliard smiled for answer. "You and Robert are friends again?" "Perfectly." She turned, and they rejoined the company. A week later Hilliard went down into the country, to a quiet spot where he now and then refreshed his mind after toil in Birmingham. He slept at a cottage, and on the Sunday morning walked idly about the lanes.