It was just upon midnight when Eve returned. She came at a quick walk,
and alone; the light of the street-lamps showed her figure distinctly
enough to leave the watcher in no doubt. A latchkey admitted her to the
house. Presently there appeared a light at an upper window, and a
shadow kept moving across the blind. When the light was extinguished
Hilliard went to bed, but that night he slept little.
The next morning passed in restless debate with himself. He did not
cross the way to call upon Eve: the thought of speaking with her on the
doorstep of a lodging-house proved intolerable. All day long he kept
his post of observation. Other persons he saw leave and enter the
house, but Miss Madeley did not come forth. That he could have missed
her seemed impossible, for even while eating his meals he remained by
the window. Perchance she had left home very early in the morning, but
it was unlikely.
Through the afternoon it rained: the gloomy sky intensified his fatigue
and despondence. About six o'clock, exhausted in mind and body, he had
allowed his attention to stray, when the sudden clang of a street organ
startled him. His eyes turned in the wonted direction--and instantly he
sprang up. To clutch his hat, to rush from the room and from the house,
occupied but a moment. There, walking away on the other side, was Eve.
Her fawn-coloured mantle, her hat with the yellow flowers, were the
same as yesterday. The rain had ceased; in the western sky appeared
promise of a fair evening.
Hilliard pursued her in a parallel line. At the top of the street she
crossed towards him; he let her pass by and followed closely. She
entered the booking-office of Gower Street station; he drew as near as
possible and heard her ask for a ticket--
"Healtheries; third return."
The slang term for the Health Exhibition at Kensington was familiar to
him from the English papers he had seen in Paris. As soon as Eve had
passed on he obtained a like ticket and hastened down the steps in
pursuit. A minute or two and he was sitting face to face with her in
the railway carriage.
He could now observe her at his leisure and compare her features with
those represented in the photograph. Mrs. Brewer had said truly that
the portrait did not do her justice; he saw the resemblance, yet what a
difference between the face he had brooded over at Dudley and that
which lived before him! A difference not to be accounted for by mere
lapse of time. She could not, he thought, have changed greatly in the
last two or three years, for her age at the time of sitting for the
photograph must have been at least one-and-twenty. She did not look
older than he had expected: it was still a young face, but--and herein
he found its strangeness--that of a woman who views life without
embarrassment, without anxiety. She sat at her ease, casting careless
glances this way and that. When her eyes fell upon him he winced, yet
she paid no more heed to him than to the other passengers.
Presently she became lost in thought; her eyes fell. Ah! now the
resemblance to the portrait came out more distinctly. Her lips shaped
themselves to that expression which he knew so well, the half-smile
telling of habitual sadness.
His fixed gaze recalled her to herself, and immediately the countenance
changed beyond recognition. Her eyes wandered past him with a look of
cold if not defiant reserve; the lips lost all their sweetness. He was
chilled with vague distrust, and once again asked himself whether this
could be the Eve Madeley whose history he had heard.
Again she fell into abstraction, and some trouble seemed to grow upon
her mind. It was difficult now to identify her with the girl who had
talked and laughed so gaily last evening. Towards the end of the
journey a nervous restlessness began to appear in her looks and
movements. Hilliard felt that he had annoyed her by the persistency of
his observation, and tried to keep his eyes averted. But no; the
disturbance she betrayed was due to some other cause; probably she paid
not the least regard to him.
At Earl's Court she alighted hurriedly. By this time Hilliard had begun
to feel shame in the ignoble part he was playing, but choice he had
none--the girl drew him irresistibly to follow and watch her. Among the
crowd entering the Exhibition he could easily keep her in sight without
risk of his espial being detected. That Eve had come to keep an
appointment with some acquaintance he felt sure, and at any cost he
must discover who the person was.
The event justified him with unexpected suddenness. No sooner had she
passed the turnstile than a man stepped forward, saluting her in form.
Eve shook hands with him, and they walked on.
Uncontrollable wrath seized on Hilliard and shook him from head to
foot. A meeting of this kind was precisely what he had foreseen, and he
resented it violently.
Eve's acquaintance had the external attributes of a gentleman. One
could not easily imagine him a clerk or a shop-assistant smartened up
for the occasion. He was plain of feature, but wore a pleasant, honest
look, and his demeanour to the girl showed not only good breeding but
unmistakable interest of the warmest kind. His age might perhaps be
thirty; he was dressed well, and in all respects conventionally.
In Eve's behaviour there appeared a very noticeable reserve; she rarely
turned her face to him while he spoke, and seemed to make only the
briefest remarks. Her attention was given to the objects they passed.
Totally unconscious of the scenes through which he was moving, Hilliard
tracked the couple for more than an hour. He noticed that the man once
took out his watch, and from this trifling incident he sought to derive
a hope; perhaps Eve would be quit ere long of the detested
companionship. They came at length to where a band was playing, and sat
down on chairs; the pursuer succeeded in obtaining a seat behind them,
but the clamour of instruments overpowered their voices, or rather the
man's voice, for Eve seemed not to speak at all. One moment, when her
neighbour's head approached nearer than usual to hers, she drew
slightly away.
The music ceased, whereupon Eve's companion again consulted his watch.
"It's a most unfortunate thing." He was audible now. "I can't possibly
stay longer."
Eve moved on her chair, as if in readiness to take leave of him, but
she did not speak.
"You think it likely you will meet Miss Ringrose?"
Eve answered, but the listener could not catch her words.
"I'm so very sorry. If there had been any----"
The voice sank, and Hilliard could only gather from observance of the
man's face that he was excusing himself in fervent tones for the
necessity of departure. Then they both rose and walked a few yards
together. Finally, with a sense of angry exultation, Hilliard saw them
part.
For a little while Eve stood watching the musicians, who were making
ready to play a new piece. As soon as the first note sounded she moved
slowly, her eyes cast down. With fiercely throbbing heart, thinking and
desiring and hoping he knew not what, Hilliard once more followed her.
Night had now fallen; the grounds of the Exhibition shone with
many-coloured illumination; the throng grew dense. It was both easy and
necessary to keep very near to the object of his interest.
There sounded a clinking of plates, cups, and glasses. People were
sitting at tables in the open air, supplied with refreshments by the
waiters who hurried hither and thither. Eve, after a show of
hesitation, took a seat by a little round table which stood apart; her
pursuer found a place whence he could keep watch. She gave an order,
and presently there was brought to her a glass of wine with a sandwich.
Hilliard called for a bottle of ale: he was consumed with thirst.
"Dare I approach her?" he asked himself. "Is it possible? And, if
possible, is it any use?"
The difficulty was to explain his recognition of her. But for that, he
might justify himself in addressing her.
She had finished her wine and was looking round. Her glance fell upon
him, and for a moment rested. With a courage not his own, Hilliard
rose, advanced, and respectfully doffed his hat.
"Miss Madeley----"
The note was half interrogative, but his voice failed before he could
add another syllable. Eve drew herself up, rigid in the alarm of female
instinct.
"I am a stranger to you," Hilliard managed to say. "But I come from
Dudley; I know some of your friends----"
His hurried words fell into coherence. At the name "Dudley" Eve's
features relaxed.
"Was it you who called at my lodgings the day before yesterday?"
"I did. Your address was given me by Mrs. Brewer, in whose house I have
lived for a long time. She wished me to call and to give you a kind
message--to say how glad they would be to hear from you----"
"But you _didn't_ leave the message."
The smile put Hilliard at his ease, it was so gentle and friendly.
"I wasn't able to come at the time I mentioned. I should have called
to-morrow."
"But how is it that you knew me? I think," she added, without waiting
for a reply, "that I have seen you somewhere. But I can't remember
where."
"Perhaps in the train this evening?"
"Yes so it was You knew me then?"
"I thought I did, for I happened to come out from my lodgings at the
moment you were leaving yours, just opposite, and we walked almost
together to Gower Street station. I must explain that I have taken
rooms in Gower Place. I didn't like to speak to you in the street; but
now that I have again chanced to see you----"
"I still don't understand," said Eve, who was speaking with the most
perfect ease of manner. "I am not the only person living in that house.
Why should you take it for granted that I was Miss Madeley?"
Hilliard had not ventured to seat himself; he stood before her, head
respectfully bent.
"At Mrs. Brewer's I saw your portrait."
Her eyes fell.
"My portrait. You really could recognise me from that?"
"Oh, readily! Will you allow me to sit down?"
"Of course. I shall be glad to hear the news you have brought. I
couldn't imagine who it was had called and wanted to see me. But
there's another thing. I didn't think Mrs. Brewer knew my address. I
have moved since I wrote to her daughter."
"No; it was the old address she gave me. I ought to have mentioned
that: it escaped my mind. First of all I went to Belmont Street."
"Mysteries still!" exclaimed Eve. "The people _there_ couldn't know
where I had gone to."
"A child who had carried some parcel for you to Gower Place volunteered
information."
Outwardly amused, and bearing herself as though no incident could
easily disconcert her, Eve did not succeed in suppressing every sign of
nervousness. Constrained by his wonder to study her with critical
attention, the young man began to feel assured that she was consciously
acting a part. That she should be able to carry it off so well, therein
lay the marvel. Of course, London had done much for her. Possessing no
common gifts, she must have developed remarkably under changed
conditions, and must, indeed, have become a very different person from
the country girl who toiled to support her drunken father's family.
Hilliard remembered the mention of her sister who had gone to
Birmingham disappeared; it suggested a characteristic of the Madeley
blood, which possibly must be borne in mind if he would interpret Eve.
She rested her arms on the little round table.
"So Mrs. Brewer asked you to come and find me?"
"It was only a suggestion, and I may as well tell you how it came
about. I used to have my meals in Mrs. Brewer's parlour, and to amuse
myself I looked over her album. There I found your portrait, and--well,
it interested me, and I asked the name of the original."
Hilliard was now in command of himself; he spoke with simple
directness, as his desires dictated.
"And Mrs. Brewer," said Eve, with averted eyes, "told you about me?"
"She spoke of you as her daughter's friend," was the evasive answer.
Eve seemed to accept it as sufficient, and there was a long silence.
"My name is Hilliard," the young man resumed. "I am taking the first
holiday, worth speaking of, that I have known for a good many years. At
Dudley my business was to make mechanical drawings, and I can't say
that I enjoyed the occupation."
"Are you going back to it?"
"Not just yet. I have been in France, and I may go abroad again before
long."
"For your pleasure?" Eve asked, with interest.
"To answer 'Yes' wouldn't quite express what I mean. I am learning to
live."
She hastily searched his face for the interpretation of these words,
then looked away, with grave, thoughtful countenance.
"By good fortune," Hilliard pursued. "I have become possessed of money
enough to live upon for a year or two. At the end of it I may find
myself in the old position, and have to be a living machine once more.
But I shall be able to remember that I was once a man."
Eve regarded him strangely, with wide, in tent eyes, as though his
speech had made a peculiar impression upon her.
"Can you see any sense in that?" he asked, smiling.
"Yes. I think I understand you."
She spoke slowly, and Hilliard, watching her, saw in her face more of
the expression of her portrait than he had yet discovered. Her soft
tone was much more like what he had expected to hear than her
utterances hitherto.
"Have you always lived at Dudley?" she asked.
He sketched rapidly the course of his life, without reference to
domestic circumstances. Before he had ceased speaking he saw that Eve's
look was directed towards something at a distance behind him; she
smiled, and at length nodded, in recognition of some person who
approached. Then a voice caused him to look round.
"Oh, there you are! I have been hunting for you ever so long."
As soon as Hilliard saw the speaker, he had no difficulty in
remembering her. It was Eve's companion of the day before yesterday,
with whom she had started for the theatre. The girl evidently felt some
surprise at discovering her friend in conversation with a man she did
not know; but Eve was equal to the situation, and spoke calmly.
"This gentleman is from my part of the world--from Dudley. Mr.
Hilliard--Miss Ringrose."
Hilliard stood up. Miss Ringrose, after attempting a bow of formal
dignity, jerked out her hand, gave a shy little laugh, and said with
amusing abruptness--
"Do you really come from Dudley?"
"I do really, Miss Ringrose. Why does it sound strange to you?"
"Oh, I don't mean that it sounds strange." She spoke in a high but not
unmusical note, very quickly, and with timid glances to either side of
her collocutor. "But Eve--Miss Madeley--gave me the idea that Dudley
people must be great, rough, sooty men. Don't laugh at me, please. You
know very well, Eve, that you always talk in that way. Of course, I
knew that there must be people of a different kind, but--there now,
you're making me confused, and I don't know what I meant to say."
She was a thin-faced, but rather pretty girl, with auburn hair.
Belonging to a class which, especially in its women, has little
intelligence to boast of, she yet redeemed herself from the charge of
commonness by a certain vivacity of feature and an agreeable suggestion
of good feeling in her would-be frank but nervous manner. Hilliard
laughed merrily at the vision in her mind of "great, rough, sooty men."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Ringrose."
"No, but really--what sort of a place is Dudley? Is it true that they
call it the Black Country?"
"Let us walk about," interposed Eve. "Mr. Hilliard will tell you all he
can about the Black Country."
She moved on, and they rambled aimlessly; among cigar-smoking clerks
and shopmen, each with the female of his kind in wondrous hat and
drapery; among domestic groups from the middle-class suburbs, and from
regions of the artisan; among the frankly rowdy and the solemnly
superior; here and there a man in evening dress, generally conscious of
his white tie and starched shirt, and a sprinkling of unattached young
women with roving eyes. Hilliard, excited by the success of his
advances, and by companionship after long solitude, became very unlike
himself, talking and jesting freely. Most of the conversation passed
between him and Miss Ringrose; Eve had fallen into an absent mood,
answered carelessly when addressed, laughed without genuine amusement,
and sometimes wore the look of trouble which Hilliard had observed
whilst in the train.
Before long she declared that it was time to go home.
"What's the hurry?" said her friend. "It's nothing like ten o'clock
yet--is it, Mr. Hilliard?"
"I don't wish to stay any longer. Of course you needn't go unless you
like, Patty."
Hilliard had counted on travelling back with her; to his great
disappointment, Eve answered his request to be allowed to do so with a
coldly civil refusal which there was no misunderstanding.
"But I hope you will let me see you again?"
"As you live so near me," she answered, "we are pretty sure to meet.
Are you coming or not, Patty?"
"Oh, of course I shall go if you do."
The young man shook hands with them; rather formally with Eve, with
Patty Ringrose as cordially as if they were old friends. And then he
lost sight of them amid the throng.