He felt his power to resist was ebbing away--falling from him like a cloak. With a mighty effort, he replied: "A garden full of Eves." And he sat humped up upon the camp bed. Auriole glided toward him and slipped her arms round his neck. He made no effort to escape. "Eves are rather nice," she whispered. His head tilted back against her. "Rather nice," he echoed. "Rather nice. Soft shoulders where a man can rest his head." A glorious drowsiness was stealing over his limbs, a blessed sense of drifting into unknown contentment. She drew up her knees and they sat huddled together on the narrow canvas bed like babes in a wood. He was barely conscious of her voice. It came to his ears as gently as the sound of waves running over sand. "--all the wonderful things we could do, Tony. The plans we could make come true. We could go out to a fairy-like dinner together--in one of your wonderful cars you could fetch me--and the streets would be twinkling with lights like jewels in Aladdin's cave." Then he found he was talking too. "A farm in New Zealand," he said. "Great flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. I know the place. There are mountains with snow caps, green grass plains, black firs and running water. I could have all that--if only--But no." "Nothing is out of reach, Tony. Everything can be yours at the price of a little sentence--just a little sentence." "No, no." "Yon need never see those others again, but just tell me. Men tell everything to women, they can't keep a secret from a woman. Nature never intended they should. That's why Nature made women the mothers because the first secret of life is theirs, and all the rest follow after." "You're bad, bad," he moaned. "A cheat trying to get at me by kindness." "And isn't kindness worth a little? Come, kneel down and whisper. It will be easy with your head in my lap and my arms around you. Kneel down and whisper." Heaven perhaps could tell where Richard found that last speck of sand which gave him the power to spring to his feet, to shake off the subtle influence of touch and voice, and to answer in a voice that fairly rang with resolve: "No, nothing--_nothing_." To Auriole he looked almost godlike as he stood with clenched fists and every fibre quivering. It was in that instant of admiration and amazement she recognised him as another man and the cry burst from her lips: "You're not Anthony Barraclough!" Richard wavered visibly and for the first time she saw real fear in his eye. "What are you saying? You're mad," he answered. "You're not Anthony Barraclough!" "I am. I am." "No!" She seized him by the shoulders and stared into his face. "You're different, your eyes, your mouth. Who are you?" "Anthony Barraclough!" he cried. "It's not true. Anthony would never have stood this. The men, yes. The torture, yes, but he always gives way to a woman. Who are you?" "I've said," he answered brokenly. "I've said."