A sudden hunger for companionship seized her, a desire to listen to a friendly voice, and to feel that she was not utterly alone. She hurried out, drawing on her gloves, and found “the Bourgeois of Clarendon Grove” on the point of repassing her doorway. He raised his hat, beamed, and came across. “Why, here you are! I hope you haven’t been ill?” “No.” “I began to get quite worried.” It gave her pleasure to find that someone had troubled to wonder what had happened. “I have given up my post, and so I have no reason for starting out early.” His round eyes studied her attentively. “Oh, that’s it!” He had sense enough not to begin by asking questions. “I was just going to take a breather round by the Fields. Suppose you’re booked for something?” “No.” “Well, why shouldn’t I tell you all about Christmas! Jane’s coming to look you up.” “That’s very good of her.” They started off together with a tacit acceptance of the situation, Mr. Parfit showing an elaborate politeness in taking the outside of the pavement. His whole air was that of a cheery and paternal bachelor on his very best and most benignant behaviour. And Eve, without knowing quite why, trusted him. “We had a gorgeous time down at Croydon.” “I’m so glad. I enjoyed the chocolates and the books. I suppose the sugar-box was a great success?” “Rather! I had a joke with the kids. I had two lots of presents, one lot on top, the other down below. Up above there were two pairs of socks for Percy, a prayer-book for Fred, a box of needles and cottons for Beatie, and a goody-goody book for Mab. You should have seen their faces, and the way the little beggars tried to gush and do the polite. ‘Oh, uncle, it’s just what I wanted!’ But it was all right down below. They found the right sort of loot down there.” Eve laughed, and was surprised at the spontaneity of her own laughter. She had not laughed like that for many weeks. “I think you must be a delightful uncle.” “Now, do you, really? It really makes it seem worth doing, you know. You’d like the kids.” “I’m sure I should.” “They’re little sports, the lot of them.” She found presently that he was trying to turn the conversation towards herself, and he manœuvred with more delicacy than she had imagined him to possess. She met the attempt by making a show of frankness. “I did not like my berth, so I threw it up. Meanwhile I am trying to do a little business in paintings and fashion plates, while I look out for something else.” “Suppose you are rather particular?” “I don’t want to take just anything that comes, if I can help it.” “Of course not. You’ve got brains.” “I can’t do the ordinary things that women are supposed to do—type and write shorthand and keep books.” She noticed that his expression had grown more serious.