"That's what you haven't told me," remarked the listener.
"I will, now that you can understand me. I resolved to go right away from all the sights and sounds that I hated, and to live a man's life, for just as long as the money would last."
"What do you mean by a man's life?"
"Why, a life of enjoyment, instead of a life not worthy to be called life at all. This is part of it, this evening. I have had enjoyable hours since I left Dudley, but never yet one like this. And because I owe it to you, I shall remember you with gratitude as long as I remember anything at all."
"That's a mistake," said Eve. "You owe the enjoyment, whatever it is, to your money, not to me."
"You prefer to look at it in that way. Be it so. I had a delightful month in Paris, but I was driven back to England by loneliness. Now, if you had been there! If I could have seen you each evening for an hour or two, had dinner with you at the restaurant, talked with you about what I had seen in the day—but that would have been perfection, and I have never hoped for more than moderate, average pleasure—such as ordinary well-to-do men take as their right."
"What did you do in Paris?"
"Saw things I have longed to see any time the last fifteen years or so. Learned to talk a little French. Got to feel a better educated man than I was before."
"Didn't Dudley seem a long way off when you were there?" asked Eve half absently.
"In another planet.—You thought once of going to Paris; Miss Ringrose told me."