“It was the desire to stamp out Chilcote’s footmarks with my own—­to prove that personality is the great force capable of everything.  I forgot to reckon that when we draw largely upon Fate she generally extorts a crushing interest.

“First came the wish for your respect; then the desire to stand well with such men as Fraide—­to feel the stir of emulation and competition—­to prove myself strong in the one career I knew myself really fitted for.  For a time the second ambition overshadowed the first, but the first was bound to reassert itself; and in a moment of egotism I conceived the notion of winning your enthusiasm as well as your respect—­”

Eve’s face, alert and questioning, suddenly paled as a doubt crossed her mind.

“Then it was only—­only to stand well with me?”

“I believed it was only the desire to stand well with you; I believed it until the night of my speech—­if you can credit anything so absurd—­then on that night, as I came up the stairs to the gallery and saw you standing there, the blindness fell away and I knew that I loved you.”  As he said the last words he released her hands and turned aside, missing the quick wave of joy and color that crossed her face.

“I knew it, but it made no difference; I was only moved to a higher self-glorification.  I touched supremacy that night.  But as we drove home I experienced the strangest coincidence of my life.  You remember the block in the traffic at Piccadilly?”

Again Eve bent her head.

“Well, when I looked out of the carriage window to discover its cause the first man I saw was—­Chilcote.”

Eve started slightly.  This swift, unexpected linking of Chilcote’s name with the most exalted moment of her life stirred her unpleasantly.  Some glimmering of Loder’s intention in so linking it, broke through the web of disturbed and conflicting thoughts.

“You saw him on that night?”

“Yes; and the sight chilled me.  It was a big drop from supremacy to the remembrance of—­everything.”

Involuntarily she put out her hand.

But Loder shook his head.  “No,” he said, “don’t pity me!  The sight of him came just in time.  I had a reaction in that moment, and, such as it was, I acted on it.  I went to him next morning and told him that the thing must end.  But then —­even then—­I shirked being honest with myself.  I had meant to tell him that it must end because I had grown to love you, but my pride rose up and tied my tongue.  I could not humiliate myself.  I put the case before him in another light.  It was a tussle of wills—­and I won; but the victory was not what it should have been.  That was proved to-day when he returned to tell me of the loss of this telegram.  It wasn’t the fear that Lady Astrupp had found it; it wasn’t to save the position that I jumped at the chance of coming back; it was to feel the joy of living, the joy of seeing you—­if only for a day!” For one second he turned towards her, then as abruptly he turned away again.