"You are keeping something back for fear of frightening me: some danger threatens you—!"
"Nothing."
"Nevertheless you have reason to fear—"
"I have always to be on my guard. Misfortune visits in strange guises, and most often unannounced. For myself, I am accustomed to that; I do not greatly care. But for you—that is another matter."
The fan resumed its weaving. After a pause Eve said: "If you must go, so be it. But 'whither thou goest, there go I'—"
"No!"
"It matters not how far," she nodded. "What is it to me where I live, so I am with you?"
"Can you require that of me?"
"I!" she cried, startled—"of you?"
"You are a woman of this world, Eve. Do I not know? Can I forget how you were when I found you, buried to life in that isolate château half a hundred years to the south of Paris? Can I not see what a change has come over you in these few months of your own New York?"