Never had he been so vehemently himself; never had Chilcote
seemed so complete a shadow.
As Eve seated herself, he moved forward and leaned over the
back of her chair. The impulse that had filled him in his
interview with Renwick, that had goaded him as he drove to the
reception, was dominant again.
"I tried to say something as we drove to the Bramfells'
to-night," he began. Like many men who possess eloquence for
an impersonal cause, he was brusque, even blunt, in the
stating of his own case. "May I hark back, and go on from
where I broke off?"
Eve half turned. Her face was still puzzled and questioning.
"Of course." She sat forward again, clasping her hands.
He looked thoughtfully at the back of her head, at the slim
outline of her shoulders, the glitter of the diamonds about
her neck.
"Do you remember the day, three weeks ago, that we talked
together in this room? The day a great many things seemed
possible?"
This time she did not look round. She kept her gaze upon the
fire.
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