“How dare you say such a thing?”
Eve was on her feet. Her brown eyes were flaming, and there was wrath in her voice.
Slowly Jeremy rose.
“My dear Eve——”
“How dare you speak like that? It’s cheap and paltry and it’s a wicked lie. D’you think I’d give my friendship to—to a stray cur?”
“You have,” said Broke. “I’ve seen you. Down on the Portsmouth Road. His blood was all over your dress, and he died in your arms.”
“Yes, but——”
“I’ll take back ‘cur,’ if it offends you: but I’m a stray, Eve. I’ve nothing to offer at all. I can only just live. A plumber makes twice the money that they pay me. The jobs I was trained for are bust or sold or given to—to ‘business men.’ If it wasn’t for Babel, I should be on the streets, and—— Oh, Eve, my lady, for God’s sake don’t cry. I didn’t mean. . . .”
Instinctively he put out his arms, and the girl slipped into them. . . . He held her gently enough, comforting her, patting her shoulder, talking in steady tones of bygone days and gilding the future with a laughing tongue. . . .
After a little, Eve had herself in hand.