He
had seen the true meaning of Lillian Astrupp's amused
indifference--the indifference of a variable, flippant nature
that, robbed of any real weapon for mischief, soon tires of a
game that promises to be too arduous. He saw all this and
understood it with a rapidity born of the moment;
nevertheless, when Eve ceased to speak the question that broke
from him was not connected with this great discovery--was not
even suggestive of it. It was something quite immaterial to
any real issue, but something that overshadowed every
consideration in the world.
"Eve," he said, "tell me your first thought? Your first
thought after the shock and the surprise--when you remembered
me?"
There was a fresh pause, but one of very short duration; then
Eve met his glance fearlessly and frankly. The same pride and
dignity, the same indescribable tenderness that had responded
to his first appeal shone in her face.
"My first thought was a great thankfulness," she said, simply.
"A thankfulness that you--that no man--could ever understand.
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