“Eve--” he said again. “I wanted to see you--I wanted to explain about yesterday and about this morning.” He paused, suddenly disturbed. The full remembrance of the scene in the brougham had surged up at sight of her--had risen a fierce, unquenchable recollection. “Eve--” he began again in a new, abrupt tone. And then it was that Eve showed herself in a fresh light. From his entrance into the room she had stayed motionless, save for her first glance of acute inquiry; but now her demeanor changed. For almost the first time in Loder's knowledge of her the vitality and force that he had vaguely apprehended below her quiet, serene exterior sprang up like a flame within whose radius things are illuminated. With a quick gesture she turned towards him, her warm color deepening, her eyes suddenly alight. “I understand,” she said, “I understand. Don't try to explain! Can't you see that it's enough to--to see you as you are--?” Loder was surprised. Remembering their last passionate scene, and the damper Chilcote's subsequent presence must inevitably have cast upon it, he had expected to be doubtfully received; but the reality of the reception left him bewildered. Eve's manner was not that of the ill-used wife; its vehemence, its note of desire and depreciation, were more suggestive of his own ardent seizing of the present, as distinguished from past or future. With an odd sense of confusion he turned to her afresh. “Then I am forgiven?” he said. And unconsciously, as he moved nearer, he touched her arm. At his touch she started. All the yielding sweetness, all the submission, that had marked her two nights ago was gone; in its place she was possessed by a curious excitement that stirred while it perplexed. Loder, moved by the sensation, took another step forward. “Then I am forgiven?” he repeated, more softly. Her face was averted as he spoke, but he felt hen arm quiver; and when at last she lifted her head, their eyes met. Neither spoke, but in an instant Loder's arms were round her. For a long, silent space they stood holding each other closely. Then, with a sharp movement, Eve freed Herself. Her color was still high, her eyes still peculiarly bright, but the bunch of violets she had worn in her belt had fallen to the ground. “John--” she said, quickly; but on the word her breath caught. With a touch of nervousness she stooped to pick up the flowers. Loder noticed both voice and gesture. “What is it?” he said. “What were you going to say?” But she made no answer. For a second longer she searched for the violets; then, as he bent to assist her, she stood up quickly and laughed--a short, embarrassed laugh. “How absurd and nervous I am!” she exclaimed. “Like a schoolgirl instead of a woman of twenty-four. You must help me to be sensible.” Her cheeks still burned, her manner was still excited, like one who holds an emotion or an impulse at bay.