“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.”
XXXII
As she finished speaking Eve did not lower her eyes. To her there was no suggestion of shame in her thoughts or her words; but to Loder, watching and listening, there was a perilous meaning contained in both.
“Thankfulness?” he repeated, slowly. From his newly stirred sense of responsibility pity and sympathy were gradually rising. He had never seen Eve as he saw her now, and his vision was all the clearer for the long oblivion. With a poignant sense of compassion and remorse, the knowledge of her youth came to him—the youth that some women preserve in the midst of the world, when circumstances have permitted them to see much but to experience little.
“Thankfulness?” he said again, incredulously.
A slight smile touched her lips. “Yes,” she answered, softly. “Thankfulness that my trust had been rightly placed.”
She spoke simply and confidently, but the words struck Loder more sharply than any accusation. With a heavy sense of bitterness and renunciation he moved slowly forward.