“Tired, Eva?” I said.
“Perhaps I am,” she replied. “Yes, I am, Julian.”
“Give me this one,” I whispered. “We’ll sit it out.”
“Very well. It’s so hot in here. We’ll go and sit it out in a hansom, shall we? I’ll get my cloak.”
I waited, numbed by her absence. Her cloak was pale pink. We walked out together into the starry night. A few yards off stood a hansom. “Drive to the corner of Sloane Street,” I said to the man, “by way of the Park.”
The night was very still.
I have said that I had forgotten everything except that I loved her. Could I remember now? Now, as we drove together through the empty streets alone, her warm, palpitating body touching mine.
James, and his awful predicament, which would last till Eva gave him up; Eva’s callous treatment of my former love for her; my own newly-acquired affection for Margaret; my self-respect—these things had become suddenly of no account.
“Eva,” I murmured; and I took her hand.
“Eva....”