Eva says I can have the last two waltzes. Here comes a hiatus. I am told that I was seen dancing, was observed to eat an excellent supper, and was noticed in the smoking-room with a cigarette in my mouth. At last the first of my two waltzes. The Eton Boating Song—one of my favourites. I threaded my way through the room in search of her. She was in neither of the doorways. I cast my eyes about the room. Her costume was so distinctive that I could hardly fail to see her. I did see her. She was dancing my waltz with another man. The thing seemed to numb my faculties. I stood in the doorway, gaping. I couldn’t understand it. The illogical nature of my position did not strike me. It did not occur to me that as I hated the girl so much, it was much the best thing that could happen that I should see as little of her as possible. My hatred was entirely concentrated on the bounder who had stolen my dance. He was a small, pink-faced little beast, and it maddened me to see that he danced better than I could ever have done. As they whirled past me she smiled at him. I rushed to the smoking-room. Whether she gave my other waltz to the same man, or whether she chose some other partner, or sat alone waiting for me, I do not know. When I returned to the ballroom the last waltz was over, and the orchestra was beginning softly to play the first extra. It was _“Tout Passe,”_ an air that has always had the power to thrill me. My heart gave a bound. Standing in the doorway just in front of me was Eva. I drew back. Two or three men came up, and asked her for the dance. She sent them away, and my heart leaped as they went. She was standing with her back towards me. Now she turned. Our eyes met. We stood for a moment looking at one another. Then I heard her give a little sigh; and instantly I forgot everything—my hatred, my two lost dances, the pink-faced blighter—everything. Everything but that I loved her. “Tired, Eva?” I said. “Perhaps I am,” she replied. “Yes, I am, Julian.” “Give me this one,” I whispered. “We’ll sit it out.” “Very well. It’s so hot in here. We’ll go and sit it out in a hansom, shall we? I’ll get my cloak.” I waited, numbed by her absence. Her cloak was pale pink. We walked out together into the starry night. A few yards off stood a hansom. “Drive to the corner of Sloane Street,” I said to the man, “by way of the Park.” The night was very still. I have said that I had forgotten everything except that I loved her. Could I remember now? Now, as we drove together through the empty streets alone, her warm, palpitating body touching mine. James, and his awful predicament, which would last till Eva gave him up; Eva’s callous treatment of my former love for her; my own newly-acquired affection for Margaret; my self-respect—these things had become suddenly of no account. “Eva,” I murmured; and I took her hand. “Eva....” Her wonderful eyes met mine. The mist in them seemed to turn to dew. “My darling,” she whispered, very low.