And she leaned toward me, too, and our heads were very close, and it happened that the book she had been holding slid from her lap and fell upon the floor; which should have grieved me, for it was one of my favorites and bound in full calf, with hand tooling around the edges. But I scarcely noticed it. I reached forth my hand, and it met hers, which was reaching out for mine; and I looked deep into her eyes--eyes swimming in tenderness--eyes like-- No, I will not say it, for it has been said too often--though there is some excuse for the poets. And after some while I spoke. “I am glad that you are happy,” I said; “and I am glad that there is no one here to-night--except only us two.” And Eve said nothing, but I knew that she was glad as well as I. “There are times,” I continued, “when I could wish that my friends were--less my friends. It is pleasant to have them--I am glad that they like to come--but they might give us more than one evening a week to spend together.” Again Eve said nothing, but again she smiled; and, smiling, it chanced that her eyes fell upon the book that was lying where it had fallen, face downward, upon the floor. “Oh, the poor book!” she cried; and stooped to pick it up. And I stooped, too, so that we were near bumping our heads; which somewhat delayed the rescue of the book. And, when it was done, it befell that Eve’s hair was a bit rumpled and she had a pretty flush. “Now, Adam,” said she, “you must tell me the matter that bothered you. For I know well enough that it was not your friends.” I looked at her in some amusement. “Why,” I answered, “that is true. I marvel that you should have guessed it, although my marveling is not so great as it was, for women have a way of getting at the meat of a matter without being at the trouble of cracking the shell. Oh, I am learning. And whom should I tell if not my wife?” Eve laughed, a low laugh and sweet. “I am to be the sharer of your sorrows,” she said, “hereafter. Remember that, Adam. And now out with it.” And I did out with it. “It is my neighbors that bother me,” I said. “For I see plainly that they are well like to become my visitors; and they like me not at all, nor ever did. I know no reason why they should have had a change of heart. Certainly it is none of my doing.” Eve did not answer this directly, but sat looking at me with a queer smile, so that I grew restive under it. “Adam,” she said, “do you believe that Solomon was a wise man?” “I was brought up in that belief,” I observed, “but, notwithstanding, I have my doubts.” “Oh, you have your doubts?” she asked. “And why do you doubt his wisdom?” “For the best reason in the world,” I answered; and I laughed as I spoke. “And I hold that I am wiser than he--as I have said before. For he had seven hundred wives while I have one--but that one, Eve”--