"I don't care what Meade thinks. I want to know what you think, Eve."
Their voices had come out of the darkness. She pulled the little chain of a wall bracket, and the room was enveloped in a warm wave of light. "I don't know what I think. But I hated to have you with Marie-Louise."
"She was very ill. You knew that. Eve, if we can't trust each other, what possible happiness can there be ahead?"
She had no answer ready.
"Of course I can't stay on Meade's boat after this," he went on; "I'll get them to run in here somewhere and drop me."
She sank back in the chair from which she had risen when Philip left them. His troubled eyes resting upon her saw a blur of pink and gold out of which emerged her white face.
"But I want you to stay."
"You shouldn't want me to stay, Eve. I can't accept his hospitality, after this, and call myself—a man."
"Oh, Dicky—I detest heroics."
She was startled by the tone in which he said, "If that is the way you feel about it, we might as well end it here."