“Yes, I see now that there is.”

In Russell Square they turned from the pavement, and walked along the edge of the enclosure.

“I wish Patty had been with us,” said Eve all at once.  “She would have enjoyed it so thoroughly.”

“To be sure she would.  Well, we can dine again, and have Patty with us.  But, after all, dining in London can’t be quite what it is in Paris.  I wish you hadn’t gone back to work again.  Do you know what I should have proposed?”

She glanced inquiringly at him.

“Why shouldn’t we all have gone to Paris for a holiday?  You and Patty could have lived together, and I should have seen you every day.”

Eve laughed.

“Why not?  Patty and I have both so much more money than we know what to do with,” she answered.

“Money?  Oh, what of that!  I have money.”

She laughed again.

Hilliard was startled.

“You are talking rather wildly.  Leaving myself out of the question, what would Mr. Dally say to such a proposal?”

“Who’s Mr. Dally?”

“Don’t you know?  Hasn’t Patty told you that she is engaged?”

“Ah!  No; she hasn’t spoken of it.  But I think I must have seen him at the music-shop one day.  Is she likely to marry him?”

“It isn’t the wisest thing she could do, but that may be the end of it.  He’s in an auctioneer’s office, and may have a pretty good income some day.”

A long silence followed.  They passed out of Russell into Woburn Square.  Night was now darkening the latest tints of the sky, and the lamps shone golden against dusty green.  At one of the houses in the narrow square festivities were toward; carriages drew up before the entrance, from which a red carpet was laid down across the pavement; within sounded music.

“Does this kind of thing excite any ambition in you?” Hilliard asked, coming to a pause a few yards away from the carriage which was discharging its occupants.

“Yes, I suppose it does.  At all events, it makes me feel discontented.”

“I have settled all that with myself.  I am content to look on as if it were a play.  Those people have an idea of life quite different from mine.  I shouldn’t enjoy myself among them.  You, perhaps, would.”

“I might,” Eve replied absently.  And she turned away to the other side of the square.

“By-the-bye, you have a friend in Paris.  Do you ever hear from her?”

“She wrote once or twice after she went back; but it has come to an end.”

“Still, you might find her again, if you were there.”

Eve delayed her reply a little, then spoke impatiently.

“What is the use of setting my thoughts upon such things?  Day after day I try to forget what I most wish for.  Talk about yourself, and I will listen with pleasure; but never talk about me.”

“It’s very hard to lay that rule upon me.  I want to hear you speak of yourself.  As yet, I hardly know you, and I never shall unless you ——­”