The little incident of the tea-table, recalling the social side of his obligations, had aroused the realization of greater things.  As he stood meditatively in the middle of the room he saw suddenly how absorbed he had become in these greater things.  How, in the swing of congenial interests, he had been borne insensibly forward—­his capacities expanding, his intelligence asserting itself.  He had so undeniably found his sphere that the idea of usurpation had receded gently as by natural laws, until his own personality had begun to color the day’s work.

As this knowledge came, he wondered quickly if it held a solution of the present little comedy; if Eve had seen what others, he knew, had observed—­that Chilcote was showing a grasp of things that he had not exhibited for years.  Then, as a sound of skirts came softly down the corridor, he squared his shoulders with his habitual abrupt gesture and threw his cigar into the fire.

Eve entered the room much as she had done on her former visit, but with one difference.  In passing Loder she quietly held out her hand.

He took it as quietly.  “Why am I so honored?” he said.

She laughed a little and looked across at the fire.  “How like a man!  You always want to begin with reasons.  Let’s have tea first and explanations after.”  She moved forward towards the table, and he followed.  As he did so, it struck him that her dress seemed in peculiar harmony with the day and the room, though beyond that he could not follow its details.  As she paused beside the table he drew forward a chair with a faint touch of awkwardness.

She thanked him and sat down.

He watched her in silence as she poured out the tea, and the thought crossed his mind that it was incredibly long since he had seen a woman preside over a meal.  The deftness of her fingers filled him with an unfamiliar, half-inquisitive wonder.  So interesting was the sensation that, when she held his cup towards him, he didn’t immediately see it.

“Don’t you want any?” She smiled a little.

He started, embarrassed by his own tardiness.  “I’m afraid I’m dull,” he said.  “I’ve been so—­”

“So keen a worker in the last week?”

For a moment he felt relieved.  Then, as a fresh silence fell, his sense of awkwardness returned.  He sipped his tea and ate a biscuit.  He found himself wishing, for almost the first time, for some of the small society talk that came so pleasantly to other men.  He felt that the position was ridiculous.  He glanced at Eve’s averted head, and laid his empty cup upon the table.

Almost at once she turned, and their eyes met.

“John,” she said, “do you guess at all why I wanted to have tea with you?”

He looked down at her.  “No,” he said, honestly and without embellishment.

The curtness of the answer might have displeased another woman.  Eve seemed to take no offence.