“I was still thinking of myself,” he said.  “I was still utterly self-centred when I came to this room today and allowed you to talk to me—­when I asked you to see me to-night as we parted at the club.  I sha’n’t tell you the thoughts that unconsciously were in my mind when I asked that favor.  You must understand without explanation.

“I went to the theatre with Lady Astrupp ostensibly to find out how the land lay in her direction—­really to heighten my self-esteem.  But there Fate—­or the power we like to call by that name—­was lying in wait for me, ready to claim the first interest in the portion of life I had dared to borrow.”  He said this slowly, as if measuring each word.  He did not glance towards Eve as he had done in his previous pause.  His whole manner seemed oppressed by the gravity of what he had still to say.

“I doubt if a man has ever seen more in half an hour than I have to-night,” he said.  “I’m speaking of mental seeing, of course.  In this play, ‘Other Men’s Shoes,’ two men change identities—­as Chilcote and I have done—­but in doing so they overlook one fact—­The fact that one of them has a wife!  That’s not my way of putting it; it’s the way it was put to me by one of Lady Astrupp’s party.”

Again Eve looked up.  The doubt and question in her eyes had grown unmistakably.  As he ceased to speak her lips parted quickly.

“John,” she said, with sudden conviction, “you’re trying to say something—­something that’s terribly hard.”

Without raising his head, Loder answered her.  “Yes,” he answered, “the hardest thing a man ever said—­”

His tone was short, almost brusque, but to ears sharpened by instinct it was eloquent.  Without a word Eve took a step forward, and, standing quite close to him, laid both hands on his shoulders.

For a space they stood silent, she with her face lifted, he with averted eyes.  Then very gently he raised his hands and tried to unclasp her fingers.  There was scarcely any color visible in his face, and by a curious effect of emotion it seemed that lines, never before noticeable, had formed about his mouth.

“What is it?” Eve asked, apprehensively.  “What is it?”

By a swift, involuntary movement she had tightened the pressure of her fingers; and, without using force, it was impossible for Loder to unloose them.  With his hands pressed irresolutely over hers, he looked down into her face.

“As I sat in the theatre to-night, Eve,” he said, slowly, “all the pictures I had formed of life shifted.  Without desiring it, without knowing it, my whole point of view was changed.  I suddenly saw things by the world’s search-light instead of by my own miserable candle.  I suddenly saw things for you —­instead of for myself.”

Eve’s eyes widened and darkened, but she said nothing.

“I suddenly saw the unpardonable wrong that I have done you —­the imperative duty of cutting it short.”  He spoke very slowly, in a dull, mechanical voice.