“Assuredly—if you have the courage. Most people are content to accept their superiors as being superior. Invert the principle—tell an accepted success you consider him an ass—and you create an immediate interest in yourself.” “It wasn’t my reason,” said Eve. “Wasn’t it?” He seemed quite surprised. “No. He annoyed me, and I showed him I was annoyed.” “You were sincere, then?” “Of course.” “How queer of you.” “Why queer?” “Oh, I don’t know. It seems so odd to be sincere with a man like that. Are you often sincere?” “Yes. Aren’t you?” “Inside I am. Been at the stage long?” “This is the beginning.” “The egg stage?” “Yes.” “Tell me, where do you live?” “A room—anywhere.” “You’ve no people, then?” “None to whom I matter—or who matter to me.” “I know. D’you know I was afraid you might have been rich and comfortable.” Eve fingered a piece of her dress and held it out. “Eight-three a yard, and made at home.” “There are rich women who disguise themselves.” “I am not one. I have king’s treasures, that is all.” “A row of books over your bed, h’m.” “That was clever,” she smiled. “I could guess the authors.” “Try.” “Meredith—Browning—Hardy—Wendell Holmes.” “Pretty good—especially Meredith.” “You mustn’t overdo Meredith—he is a cult, not an author. You’re intricate—with the ‘Diana’ courage, and that’s dangerous. If you care to borrow I have some books. Come and choose a few.” “May I? I should like that.” “Come tonight?” “It’s the first night of the play.” “I’d forgotten. Well”—with a sudden impulse—“why not after it is over?” “If you like.” He rubbed his chin with his long, sensitive fingers, and nodded approvingly. “You’d make a friend,” he said. He could say things very attractively when he chose. The remark was a compliment to Eve and her sex. II Wynne’s part ended with the first act, but he waited at the stage door till the close of the play. Presently Eve came out and joined him. Very small she looked wrapped in a long brown coat, with her hands tucked in the pockets. She wore a little close-fitting hat which accentuated the oval of her gravely piquant face. “Which way?” she asked. “Through Covent Garden, if we walk. Be jollier to walk, I think, don’t you?” He suddenly remembered when last he had put the same question, and almost flushed at the memory. Then, as now, he had been seeking a friend. He had been a long time finding one. “Yes, much,” said Eve. “I always walk back. I like it, and it saves the pennies.” “I like it, and try not to remember that it saves the pennies,” he remarked whimsically. “’Tisn’t bad being poor when one doesn’t mean to be poor for ever. I have tremendous beliefs that this is only a passing stage, haven’t you?” “A valley?” “Yes, which in passing through gives us the answer to all manner of whys and wherefores.” Eve nodded. “What a queer old street!” she said. “I haven’t been this way before.”