Loder was keenly uncomfortable, but he could think of nothing to say.

“It seemed to begin that night I dined with the Fraides,” she went on.  “Mr. Fraide talked so wisely and so kindly about many things.  He recalled all we had hoped for in you; and —­and he blamed me a little.”  She paused and laid her cup aside.  “He said that when people have made what they call their last effort, they should always make just one effort more.  He promised that if I could once persuade you to take an interest in your work, he would do the rest.  He said all that, and a thousand other kinder things—­and I sat and listened.  But all the time I thought of nothing but their uselessness.  Before I left I promised to do my best —­but my thought was still the same.  It was stronger than ever when I forced myself to come up here—­” She paused again, and glanced at Loder’s averted head.  “But I came, and then—­as if by conquering myself I had compelled a reward, you seemed—­you somehow seemed different.  It sounds ridiculous, I know.”  Her voice was half amused, half deprecating.  “It wasn’t a difference in your face, though I knew directly that you were free from—­nerves.”  Again she hesitated over the word.  “It was a difference in yourself, in the things you said, more than in the way you said them.”  Once more she paused and laughed a little.

Loder’s discomfort grew.

“But it didn’t affect me then.”  She spoke more slowly.  “I wouldn’t admit it then.  And the next day when we talked on the Terrace I still refused to admit it—­though I felt it more strongly than before.  But I have watched you since that day, and I know there is a change.  Mr. Fraide feels the same, and he is never mistaken.  I know it’s only nine or ten days, but I’ve hardly seen you in the same mood for nine or ten hours in the last three years.”  She stopped, and the silence was expressive.  It seemed to plead for confirmation of her instinct.

Still Loder could find no response.

After waiting for a moment, she leaned forward in her chair and looked up at him.

“John,” she said, “is it going to last?  That’s what I came to ask.  I don’t want to believe till I’m sure; I don’t want to risk a new disappointment.”  Loder felt the earnestness of her gaze, though he avoided meeting it.

“I couldn’t have said this to you a week ago, but to-day I can.  I don’t pretend to explain why—­the feeling is too inexplicable.  I only know that I can say it now, and that I couldn’t a week ago.  Will you understand—­and answer?”

Still Loder remained mute.  His position was horribly incongruous.  What could he say?  What dared he say?

Confused by his silence, Eve rose.

“If it’s only a phase, don’t try to hide it,” she said.  “But if it’s going to last—­if by any possibility it’s going to last—­” She hesitated and looked up.