“Then I am forgiven?” he said.  And unconsciously, as he moved nearer, he touched her arm.

At his touch she started.  All the yielding sweetness, all the submission, that had marked her two nights ago was gone; in its place she was possessed by a curious excitement that stirred while it perplexed.

Loder, moved by the sensation, took another step forward.  “Then I am forgiven?” he repeated, more softly.

Her face was averted as he spoke, but he felt hen arm quiver; and when at last she lifted her head, their eyes met.  Neither spoke, but in an instant Loder’s arms were round her.

For a long, silent space they stood holding each other closely.  Then, with a sharp movement, Eve freed Herself.  Her color was still high, her eyes still peculiarly bright, but the bunch of violets she had worn in her belt had fallen to the ground.

“John—­” she said, quickly; but on the word her breath caught.  With a touch of nervousness she stooped to pick up the flowers.

Loder noticed both voice and gesture.  “What is it?” he said.  “What were you going to say?”

But she made no answer.  For a second longer she searched for the violets; then, as he bent to assist her, she stood up quickly and laughed—­a short, embarrassed laugh.

“How absurd and nervous I am!” she exclaimed.  “Like a schoolgirl instead of a woman of twenty-four.  You must help me to be sensible.”  Her cheeks still burned, her manner was still excited, like one who holds an emotion or an impulse at bay.

Loder looked at her uncertainly.  “Eve—­” he began afresh with his odd, characteristic perseverance, but she instantly checked him.  There was a finality, a faint suggestion of fear, in her protest.

“Don’t!” she said.  “Don’t!  I don’t want explanations.  I want to—­to enjoy the moment without having things analyzed or smoothed away.  Can’t you understand?  Can’t you see that I’m wonderfully, terribly happy to—­to have you—­as you are!” Again her voice broke—­a break that might have been a laugh or a sob.

The sound was an emotional crisis, as such a sound invariably is.  It arrested and steadied her.  For a moment she stood absolutely still; then, with something very closely resembling her old repose of manner, she stooped again and quietly picked up the flowers still lying at her feet.

“Now,” she said, quietly, “I must say what I’ve wanted to say all along.  How does it feel to be a great man?” Her manner was controlled, she looked at him evenly and directly; save for the faint vibration in her voice there was nothing to indicate the tumult of a moment ago.

But Loder was still uncertain.  He caught her hand, his eyes searching hers.

“But Eve—­” he began.

Then Eve played the last card in her mysterious game.  Laughing quickly and nervously, she freed her hand and laid it over his mouth.

“No!” she said.  “Not one word!  All this past fortnight has belonged to you; now it’s my turn.  To-day is mine.”