Filled with that smart of wounded love whose sweetest balm revenge seems to supply, Eve lay awake until the gray light of day had filled the room, and then, from sheer exhaustion, she fell into a doze which gradually deepened into a heavy sleep, so that when she again opened her eyes the sun was shining full and strong.

Starting up, she looked round for Joan, but Joan had been up for a couple of hours and more.  She had arisen very stealthily, creeping about with the hope that Eve would not be disturbed by her movements, for Adam’s great desire was that Eve’s feelings should be in no way outraged by discovering either in Uncle Zebedee or in Jerrem traces of the previous night’s debauch; and this, by Joan’s help, was managed so well that when Eve made her appearance she was told that Uncle Zebedee, tired like herself, was not yet awake, while Jerrem, brisked up by several nips of raw spirit, was lounging about in a state of lassitude and depression which might very well be attributed to reaction and fatigue.

Perhaps if Eve could have known that Adam was not present she would have toned down the amount of cordiality she threw into her greeting of Jerrem—­a greeting he accepted with such a happy adjustment of pleasure and gratitude that to have shown a difference on the score of Adam’s absence would have been to step back into their former unpleasant footing.

“Adam’s gone out,” said Jerrem in answer to the inquiring look Eve was sending round the kitchen.

“Oh, I wasn’t looking for Adam,” said Eve, while the rush of vexed color denied the assertion:  “I was wondering where Joan could be.”

“She was in here a minute ago,” said Jerrem, “telling me ’twas a shame to be idlin’ about so.”

“Why, are you still busy?” said Eve.

“No, nothin’ to speak of but what ’ull wait—­and fit it should—­till I’d spoken to you, Eve.  I ain’t like one who’s got the chance o’ comin’ when he’s minded to,” he added, “or the grass wouldn’t ha’ had much chance o’ growin’ under my feet after once they felt the shore.  No, now, don’t look put out with me:  I ain’t goin’ to ask ye to listen to nothin’ you don’t want to hear.  I’ve tried to see the folly o’ that while I’ve bin away, and ’tis all done with and pitched overboard; and that’s what made me write that letter, ’cos I wanted us two to be like what we used to be, you know.”

“I wish you hadn’t written that letter, though,” said Eve, only half inclined to credit Jerrem’s assertions.

“Well, as things have turned out, so do I,” said Jerrem, who, although he did not confess it to himself, would have given all he possessed to feel quite certain Eve would keep his secret.  “You see, it’s so awkard like, when everybody’s tryin’ to ferret out how this affair came about.  You didn’t happen to mention it to nobody, I s’pose?” and he turned a keen glance of inquiry toward Eve.

“Me mention it?” said Eve:  “I should think not!  Joan can tell you how angry we both were, for of course we knew that unless Adam had some good cause he wouldn’t have wished it kept so secret.”