She prepared to listen to him with the patient air of an over-worked official whose inward eye remains fixed upon insistent accumulations of business. It did not strike her that there was anything unusual about his manner, or that his voice was the voice of a man who touched the deeper notes of life. “Eve Carfax is coming back as my secretary and art expert. She has given up her work in town.” “I am really very glad, James.” “Thanks. She got entangled in the militant campaign, but the extravagances disgusted her, and she broke away.” “Sensible young woman. She might help me down here, especially as she has some intimate knowledge of the methods of these fanatics.” “It is possible. But that is not quite all that I want to tell you. In the first place, I built the new cottage with the idea that she would come back.” His wife’s face showed vague surprise. “Did you? Don’t you think it was a little unnecessary? After all——” “We are coming to the point. I have a very great affection for Eve Carfax. She and I see things together as two humans very rarely see them. We were made for the same work. She understands the colour of life as I understand it.” Gertrude Canterton wrinkled up her forehead as though she were puzzled. “That is very nice for you, James. It ought to be a help.” “I want you to understand the whole matter thoroughly. I am telling you the truth, because it seems to me the sane and honest thing to do. You and I are not exactly comrades, are we? We just happen to be married. We have our own interests, our own friends. As a man, I have wanted someone who sympathised and understood. I am not making this a personal question, for I know you do not get much sympathy from me. But I have found a comrade. That is all.” His wife sat back in her chair, staring. “Do you mean to say that you are in love with this girl?” “Exactly! I am in love with her.” “James, how ridiculous!” Perhaps laughter was the last thing that he had expected, but laugh she did with a thin merriment that had no acid edge to it. It was the laughter of an egoist who had failed utterly to grasp the significance of what he had said. She was too sexless to be jealous, too great an egoist to imagine that she was being slighted. It appealed to her as a comedy, as something quite outside herself. “How absurd! Why, you are over forty.” “Just so. That makes it more practical. I wanted you to realise how things stand, and to tell you that I am capable of a higher sort of affection than most people indulge in. You have nothing to fear.” She wriggled her shoulders. “I don’t feel alarmed, James, in the least. I know you would never do common, vulgar things. You always were eccentric. I suppose this is like discovering a new rose. It is really funny. I only ask you not to make a fool of yourself in public.” He looked at her steadily and with a kind of compassion.