“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Wait! You believe you have acted wrongly, and you are desperately afraid of acting wrongly again. But is it really truer, more loyal for us to work out a long probation in grooves that are already overfilled than to marry quietly abroad and fill the places that have need of us? That is the question I want you to answer. Is it really truer and nobler? Oh, I see the doubt that is in your mind! You think it finer to go away and make a new life than to live the life that is waiting you--because one is independent and the other means the use of another man's name and another man's money--that is the thought in your mind. But what is it that prompts that thought?” Again her voice caught, but her eyes did not falter. “I will tell you. It is not self-sacrifice--but pride!” She said the word fearlessly. A flush crossed Loder's face. “A man requires pride,” he said in a low voice. “Yes, at the right time. But is this the right time? Is it ever right to throw away the substance for the shadow? You say that I don't understand--don't realize. I realize more to-night than I have realized in all my life. I know that you have an opportunity that can never come again--and that it's terribly possible to let it slip--” She paused. Loder, his hands resting on the closed doors of the cab, sat very silent, with averted eyes and bent head. “Only to-night,” she went on, “you told me that everything was crying to you to take the easy, pleasant way. Then it was strong to turn aside; but now it is not strong. It is far nobler to fill an empty niche than to carve one for yourself. John--” She suddenly leaned forward, laying her hands over his. “Mr. Fraide told me to-night that in his new ministry my--my husband was to be Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs!” The words fell softly. So softly that to ears less comprehending than Loder's their significance might have been lost--as his rigid attitude and unresponsive manner might have conveyed lack of understanding to any eyes less observant than Eve's. For a long space there was no word spoken. At last, with a very gentle pressure, her fingers tightened over his hands. “John--” she began, gently. But the word died away. She drew back into her seat, as the cab stopped before Chilcote's house. Simultaneously as they descended, the hall door was opened and a flood of warm light poured out reassuringly into the darkness. “I thought it was your cab, sir,” Crapham explained deferentially as they passed into the hall. “Mr. Fraide has been waiting to see you this half-hour. I showed him into the study.” He closed the door; softly and retired. Then, in the warm light, amid the gravely dignified surroundings that had marked his first entry into this hazardous second existence, Eve turned to Loder for the verdict upon which the future hung. As she turned, his face was still hidden from her, and his attitude betrayed nothing.