They were going to a theatre, of course.  And Eve spoke as if money were of no consequence to her.  She had the look, the tones, of one bent on enjoying herself, of one who habitually pursued pleasure, and that in its most urban forms.

Her companion had a voice of thinner quality, of higher note, which proclaimed a subordinate character.  It sounded, moreover, with the London accent, while Eve’s struck a more familiar note to the man of the Midlands.  Eve seemed to be the elder of the two; it could not be thought for a moment that her will was guided by that of the more trivial girl.

Eve Madeley—­the meek, the melancholy, the long-suffering, the pious—­what did it all mean?

Utterly bewildered, the young man walked on without thought of direction, and rambled dreamily about the streets for an hour or two.  He could not make up his mind whether or not to fulfil the promise of calling to see Miss Madeley to-morrow morning.  At one moment he regretted having taken lodgings in Gower Place; at another he determined to make use of his advantage, and play the spy upon Eve’s movements without scruple.  The interest she had hitherto excited in him was faint indeed compared with emotions such as this first glimpse of her had kindled and fanned.  A sense of peril warned him to hold aloof; tumult of his senses rendered the warning useless.

At eleven o’clock he was sitting by his bedroom window, in darkness, watching the house across the way.

CHAPTER VI

It was just upon midnight when Eve returned.  She came at a quick walk, and alone; the light of the street-lamps showed her figure distinctly enough to leave the watcher in no doubt.  A latchkey admitted her to the house.  Presently there appeared a light at an upper window, and a shadow kept moving across the blind.  When the light was extinguished Hilliard went to bed, but that night he slept little.

The next morning passed in restless debate with himself.  He did not cross the way to call upon Eve:  the thought of speaking with her on the doorstep of a lodging-house proved intolerable.  All day long he kept his post of observation.  Other persons he saw leave and enter the house, but Miss Madeley did not come forth.  That he could have missed her seemed impossible, for even while eating his meals he remained by the window.  Perchance she had left home very early in the morning, but it was unlikely.

Through the afternoon it rained:  the gloomy sky intensified his fatigue and despondence.  About six o’clock, exhausted in mind and body, he had allowed his attention to stray, when the sudden clang of a street organ startled him.  His eyes turned in the wonted direction—­and instantly he sprang up.  To clutch his hat, to rush from the room and from the house, occupied but a moment.  There, walking away on the other side, was Eve.  Her fawn-coloured mantle, her hat with the yellow flowers, were the same as yesterday.  The rain had ceased; in the western sky appeared promise of a fair evening.