He broke off. And then, “Hers too. She’s true as steel.” I had heard no more bitter cry than that. I began to busy myself amongst some manuscripts to give Julian time to compose himself. And so an hour passed. At a quarter past four I got up to go out. Julian lay recumbent. It seemed terrible to leave him brooding alone over his misery. A closer inspection, however, showed me he was asleep. Meanwhile, Eva Eversleigh and I became firm friends. Of her person I need simply say that it was the most beautiful that Nature ever created. Pressed as to details, I should add that she was _petite_, dark, had brown hair, very big blue eyes, a _retroussé_ nose, and a rather wide mouth. Julian had said she was “true as steel.” Therefore, I felt no diffidence in manoeuvring myself into her society on every conceivable occasion. Sometimes she spoke to me of Julian, whom I admitted I knew, and, with feminine courage, she hid her hopeless, all-devouring affection for her cousin under the cloak of ingenuous levity. She laughed nearly every time his name was mentioned. About this time the Gunton-Cresswells gave a dance. I looked forward to it with almost painful pleasure. I had not been to a dance since my last May-week at Cambridge. Also No. 5, Kensington Lane had completely usurped the position I had previously assigned to Paradise. To waltz with Julian’s cousin—that was the ambition which now dwarfed my former hankering for the fame of authorship or a habitation in Bohemia. Mrs. Goodwin once said that happiness consists in anticipating an impossible future. Be that as it may, I certainly thought my sensations were pleasant enough when at length my hansom pulled up jerkily beside the red-carpeted steps of No. 5, Kensington Lane. As I paid the fare, I could hear the murmur from within of a waltz tune—and I kept repeating to myself that Eva had promised me the privilege of taking her in to supper, and had given me the last two waltzes and the first two extras. I went to pay my _devoirs_ to my hostess. She was supinely gamesome. “Ah,” she said, showing her excellent teeth, “Genius attendant at the revels of Terpsichore.” “Where Beauty, Mrs. Gunton-Cresswell,” I responded, cutting it, as though mutton, thick, “teaches e’en the humblest visitor the reigning Muse’s art.” “You may have this one, if you like,” said Mrs. Gunton-Cresswell simply. Supper came at last, and, with supper, Eva.