"I have come to talk to you about Reggie," she said.
Eva flushed, and unconsciously closed her hand on the note she held.
"What about him?"
"He is not very happy," said Mrs. Davenport, gently, "and I think perhaps you can help me."
"Ah! I think I probably can," said Eva. "I am glad you have come to see me. I am afraid I have made mischief, and I am sorry. It is odd for me to be sorry; I suppose it's a sign that I am growing old. You know for some time he has been seeing a good deal of me. That was my fault; I ought to have stopped it. And last night I gave him a sudden shock. He only knew one little bit of me, and I thought it was better—"
Eva stopped, for her voice was trembling, and Mrs. Davenport waited.
"It was better," she continued, after a moment, "that he should know the rest of me. Then, when he knew, he called me a wicked woman, and went away straight from the opera. It was splendid. I admired him immensely. But it appears he is sorry he did so. I have just got a note from him imploring forgiveness."
"Ah! the foolish boy," said Mrs. Davenport, half involuntarily.
"Yes, I quite agree with you. You see it puts me in a difficulty. I like him very much—so much that I should be sorry to do him an injury. I should do him an injury if I allowed him to fall in love with me again. On the other hand, I like him well enough to be very sorry not to see him again, and I have to choose."