He spoke eagerly, walking beside her, eager to lead her away from the crowd, and have her to himself. The group of visitors among whom she had been standing stared after them curiously, and one elderly, stout woman took a tentative step forward, as if about to follow, thought better of it, and stood aside. Dempster had a fleeting suspicion of sharp eyes scanning his face; then he forgot everything but his companion. He was conscious of every movement, of every curve of the slim, graceful figure, but no word was spoken until they seated themselves within the shelter of the arbour, and faced each other across its narrow span. Was it the shadow of the trailing branches which made her face so white? She narrowed her eyes, as if searching in the store-room of memory, and a faint smile curved her lips. Once again the pain cramped Rupert's heart as he realised that smiles came but hardly to her lips. A note of interrogation quickened her voice: "I know you so well... We have met before?" He leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin cupped between finger and thumb, tired eyes aglow with life. "Yes!" "When? Where?" "Always!" he told her. "In our dreams." She shrank at that, edging back into her corner, holding out a quick, protesting hand. "No! Please! Don't make fun... We have met on more substantial ground. I know your face. I knew it the moment you turned. We have met years ago, and have forgotten--" Rupert sat motionless, his eyes riveted upon her face. "Think!" he urged softly. "Think! Ask your own heart, and let it answer. It spoke clearly enough a minute ago. You have _always_ known me! You have been waiting, as I have been waiting. It has been long, and we are both tired, but now it is over, and we can forget. Our summer has begun!" He stretched out his hand towards her. "I've been keeping myself for you. From this moment I am yours, and all that I have. The world would call me crazy to make such a vow to a woman I have known in the flesh for only a few minutes, but _you_ understand! _You_ know that it is the simple, absolute truth. Give me your hand!" Like a homing-bird the small hand fluttered and fell, nestling softly against his own. He pressed his lips to it in a long, sacramental kiss, then raised himself to look into her eyes. "What is your name?" "Eve. And yours?" "Rupert. I am glad that you are Eve. The first woman; the only woman. No other name could have fitted you so well. Eve! look in my eyes, and answer what I ask. Do you trust me, Eve? Do you believe that I am speaking the truth?"