He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her with a masterful grip. Her eyes met his and fell. "Oh, I hate your—sureness."
"Some day you are going to love it. Look at me, Eve."
She forced herself to do so. But she was not at ease. Then almost wistfully she yielded. "I—am sorry, Pip."
His hands dropped from her shoulders. "Good little girl."
He kissed both of her hands before he went away. "I am glad we are friends"—that was his way of putting it—"and you mustn't forget that some day we are going to be more than that," and when he had gone she found herself still shaken by the sureness of his attitude.
Pip on his way down-town stopped in to order Winifred's roses, and the next day he went to her apartment and unburdened his heart.
"If it was in the day of duels I'd call him out. Just at this moment I am in the mood for pistols or poison, I'm not sure which."
"Why not try—patience?"
He glanced at her quickly. "You think she'll tire?"
"I think—it can never happen. For Richard's sake I—hope not."