She rose and moved some plates to the dresser. “I suppose you were sorry for me, and thought that the kindest way to show it. You were wrong.” His reply was unexpected: “How can you possibly say I was wrong? You don’t know—you don’t know what may have happened to me since I came here. If I made you think I am a lover by trade I apologize—for it’s the last thing I would have you believe.” She scarcely knew what to answer, but there was no need, for he started afresh: “D’you know, I have never been in love with any one before. I have never even made love to any one; but, by God! I want to make love to you. The instant you opened the door I knew something had happened to me. I’m in love with you—do you understand?—absolutely.” Despite the startled fear these crazy words awoke, Eve could not but feel a sudden impulse of warmth. In the midst of the passionless monotony of her life—at a time when her every thought was doubting if she possessed any one quality to endear—came this sudden avowal, backed by a sincerity that could not be misunderstood. The very surprise written on his face testified that he meant all he had said. So they looked at each other with the greatest perplexity, and only the silliest, most conventional phrase found its way to Eve’s lips. “I’m married,” she said. “You forget. You mustn’t speak so.” “I deny your marriage, so why shouldn’t I speak as I feel? I must speak.” “When I ask you not?” His hands fell to his sides. “Why do you ask me not? Is it nothing to hear of love, even though you may not need it? Oh, I—” “Please.” He took a step toward her, then turned sharply away. Presently he laughed: “Ha! I said we’d be as honest as dreams are—and we have been. You know how dreams go—leaping from rock to rock—clearing all difficulties—you and the subject to the predestined end.” “What is the predestined end?” said Curiosity. “To make you happy.” “Is that a part of love?” “All of mine,” he said. She stretched out her hand. “Oh, you’re rather good. I’m glad you came, you have given me back what I had lost.” “What?” “You’ve given me hope.” “I wish I could give you reality.” “Hope is better, New Friend.” “Until it dies.” “It shan’t die,” said Eve, with a sudden fierceness. “But if it should, would not reality help you to forget?” “I don’t know.” “How would you know if hope had died?” “If—if he failed me altogether,” she slowly answered. “I understand,” said Quiltan. VI Wynne Rendall was not a little irritated at Quiltan’s failure to keep the appointment. He lunched alone at the club, and for want of better occupation strolled round to the theatre afterwards. He walked on to the stage at the very moment Miss Esme was beginning her scene, and, observing him, this young lady very promptly gave up all attempts to proceed, and said: “I do wish you wouldn’t come to rehearsals—you frighten me most dreadfully.” “Come along, Miss Waybury,” insisted the stage manager.