She looked away over the evening landscape, and the broad valley was bathed in gold. It was very beautiful, very still. Eve could hear the sound of her own breathing. And for the moment she could not look at Canterton, could not speak to him. She guessed what was in his mind, and knew what was in her own. “A place to dream in!” “Yet it was built for a worker!” She rested her hands on the window sill, steadying herself, and looking out over the valley. Canterton went on speaking. “You can guess for whom this was built.” “I can guess.” “Man, as man, has shocked you. I offer no bribes. I ask for none. You trust me?” He could hardly hear her “Yes.” “I know that chance brought us together to-day. May I make use of it? I am remembering my promise.” “Perhaps it was more than chance. It was rash of me to want to see Lynette. And I trust you.” He stood back a little, leaving her by the window. “Eve, I do not ask for anything. I only say, here is a life for you—a working life. Live it and express yourself. Do things. You can do them. No one will be prouder of your work than I shall be. In creating a woman’s career, you can help other women.” Her lips were quivering. “Oh, I trust you! But it is such a prospect. You don’t know. I can’t face it all in a moment.” “I don’t ask you to do that. Go away, if you wish it, think it over, and decide. Don’t think of me, the man, the comrade. Think of the working life, of your art, the real life—just that.” He made a movement towards the door, and she understood the delicacy of his self-effacement, and the fine courtesy that forefelt her sensitive desire to escape to be alone. They passed out into the garden. Canterton spoke again as he opened the gate. “I still believe all that I believed last summer!” He had to wait for her answer, but it came. “I am older than I was. I have suffered a little. That refines or hardens. One does not ask for everything when one has had nothing. And yet I do not know what to say to you—the man.” * * * * * CHAPTER XLI CAMPING IN THE FIR WOODS Lizzie Straker and Joan Gaunt were at supper when Eve walked into their private sitting-room at the “Black Boar.” Eight o’clock had struck, but the window of the room faced west, and the lamp on the table had not been lit. “You’re pretty late.” Eve sat down without taking off her hat. She had a feeling that these two had been discussing her just before she had come into the room, and that things which she was not expected to see had been, so to speak, pushed hurriedly under the sofa. “I’ve had a long ramble, and I’m hungry.” She found a round of cold beef, and a dish of young lettuces on the table. Her companions had got as far as milk pudding and stewed rhubarb. “You must have been walking about four solid hours. Did you get lost?” “No. I used to live down here.” They stared. “Oh, did you!”