Eve lay back in her chair and crossed her legs.
“Shall I tell you?” she said. “Because you’re a gentleman. You thought she’d lost her head—she probably had: and you weren’t going to take advantage of a runaway heart. . . . That hundred pounds was Cæsar’s: you rendered it whence it came.”
Broke got upon his feet and turned to the mantelpiece.
Presently he took out a pipe and a well-worn pouch.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said slowly.
After a long look Eve lowered her eyes to the floor.
“You got off once before, Jeremy—nearly three years ago now.”
“Yes,” said Jeremy, pressing tobacco home.
“Did you think I’d lost my head?”
“No.”