When this change had been made Eve seemed to throw off a burden. She
met Hilliard with something like the ease of manner, the frank
friendliness, which marked her best moods in their earlier intercourse.
At a restaurant dinner, to which he persuaded her in company with
Patty, she was ready in cheerful talk, and an expedition to Versailles,
some days after, showed her radiant with the joy of sunshine and
movement. Hilliard could not but wonder at the success of his
prescription.
He did not visit the girls in their new abode, and nothing more was
said of his making the acquaintance of Mdlle. Roche. Meetings were
appointed by post-card--always in Patty's hand if the initiative were
female; they took place three or four times a week. As it was now
necessary for Eve to make payments on her own account, Hilliard
despatched to her by post a remittance in paper money, and of this no
word passed between them. Three weeks later he again posted the same
sum. On the morrow they went by river to St. Cloud--it was always a
trio, Hilliard never making any other proposal--and the steam-boat
afforded Eve an opportunity of speaking with her generous friend apart.
"I don't want this money," she said, giving him an envelope. "What you
sent before isn't anything like finished. There's enough for a month
more."
"Keep it all the same. I won't have any pinching."
"There's nothing of the kind. If I don't have my way in this I shall go
back to London."
He put the envelope in his pocket, and stood silent, with eyes fixed on
the river bank.
"How long do you intend us to stay?" asked Eve.
"As long as you find pleasure here."
"And--what am I to do afterwards?"
He glanced at her.
"A holiday must come to an end," she added, trying, but without
success, to meet his look.
"I haven't given any thought to that," said Hilliard, carelessly;
"there's plenty of time. It will be fine weather for many weeks yet."
"But I have been thinking about it. I should be crazy if I didn't."
"Tell me your thoughts, then."
"Should you be satisfied if I got a place at Birmingham?"
There again Was the note of self-abasement. It irritated the listener.
"Why do you put it in that way? There's no question of what satisfies
me, but of what is good for you."
"Then I think it had better be Birmingham."
"Very well. It's understood that when we leave Paris we go there."
A silence. Then Eve asked abruptly:
"You will go as well?"
"Yes, I shall go back."
"And what becomes of your determination to enjoy life as long as you
can?"
"I'm carrying it out. I shall go back satisfied, at all events."
"And return to your old work?"
"I don't know. It depends on all sorts of things. We won't talk of it
just yet."
Patty approached, and Hilliard turned to her with a bright, jesting
face.
Midway in August, on his return home one afternoon, the concierge let
him know that two English gentlemen had been inquiring for him; one of
them had left a card. With surprise and pleasure Hilliard read the name
of Robert Narramore, and beneath it, written in pencil, an invitation
to dine that evening at a certain hotel in the Rue de Provence. As
usual, Narramore had neglected the duties of a correspondent; this was
the first announcement of his intention to be in Paris. Who the second
man might be Hilliard could not conjecture.
He arrived at the hotel, and found Narramore in company with a man of
about the same age, his name Birching, to Hilliard a stranger. They had
reached Paris this morning, and would remain only for a day or two, as
their purpose was towards the Alps.
"I couldn't stand this heat," remarked Narramore, who, in the very
lightest of tourist garbs, sprawled upon a divan, and drank something
iced out of a tall tumbler. "We shouldn't have stopped here at all if
it hadn't been for you. The idea is that you should go on with us."
"Can't--impossible----"
"Why, what are you doing here--besides roasting?"
"Eating and drinking just what suits my digestion."
"You look pretty fit--a jolly sight better than when we met last. All
the same, you will go on with us. We won't argue it now; it's
dinner-time. Wait till afterwards."
At table, Narramore mentioned that his friend Birching was an architect.
"Just what this fellow ought to have been," he said, indicating
Hilliard. "Architecture is his hobby. I believe he could sit down and
draw to scale a front elevation of any great cathedral in
Europe--couldn't you, Hilliard?"
Laughing the joke aside, Hilliard looked with interest at Mr. Birching,
and began to talk with him. The three young men consumed a good deal of
wine, and after dinner strolled about the streets, until Narramore's
fatigue and thirst brought them to a pause at a cafe on the Boulevard
des Italiens. Birching presently moved apart, to reach a newspaper, and
remained out of earshot while Narramore talked with his other friend.
"What's going on?" he began. "What are you doing here? Seriously, I
want you to go along with us. Birching is a very good sort of chap, but
just a trifle heavy--takes things rather solemnly for such hot weather.
Is it the expense? Hang it! You and I know each other well enough, and,
thanks to my old uncle----"
"Never mind that, old boy," interposed Hilliard. "How long are you
going for?"
"I can't very well be away for more than three weeks. The brass
bedsteads, you know----"
Hilliard agreed to join in the tour.
"That's right: I've been looking forward to it," said his friend
heartily. "And now, haven't you anything to tell me? Are you alone
here? Then, what the deuce do you do with yourself?"
"Chiefly meditate."
"You're the rummest fellow I ever knew. I've wanted to write to you,
but--hang it!--what with hot weather and brass bedsteads, and this and
that----Now, what _are_ you going to do? Your money won't last for
ever. Haven't you any projects? It was no good talking about it before
you left Dudley. I saw that. You were all but fit for a lunatic asylum,
and no wonder. But you've pulled round, I see. Never saw you looking in
such condition. What is to be the next move?"
"I have no idea."
"Well, now, _I_ have. This fellow Birching is partner with his brother,
in Brum, and they're tolerably flourishing. I've thought of you ever
since I came to know him; I think it was chiefly on your account that I
got thick with him--though there was another reason I'll tell you about
that some time. Now, why shouldn't you go into their office? Could you
manage to pay a small premium? I believe I could square it with them. I
haven't said anything. I never hurry--like things to ripen naturally.
Suppose you saw your way, in a year or two, to make only as much in an
architect's office as you did in that----machine-shop, wouldn't it be
worth while?"
Hilliard mused. Already he had a flush on his cheek, but his eyes
sensibly brightened.
"Yes," he said at length with deliberation. "It would be worth while."
"So I should think. Well, wait till you've got to be a bit chummy with
Birching. I think you'll suit each other. Let him see that you do
really know something about architecture--there'll be plenty of
chances."
Hilliard, still musing, repeated with mechanical emphasis:
"Yes, it would be worth while."
Then Narramore called to Birching, and the talk became general again.
The next morning they drove about Paris, all together. Narramore,
though it was his first visit to the city, declined to see anything
which demanded exertion, and the necessity for quenching his thirst
recurred with great frequency. Early in the afternoon he proposed that
they should leave Paris that very evening.
"I want to see a mountain with snow on it. We're bound to travel by
night, and another day of this would settle me. Any objection,
Birching?"
The architect agreed, and time-tables were consulted. Hilliard drove
home to pack. When this was finished, he sat down and wrote a letter:
"DEAR MISS MADELEY,--My friend Narramore is here, and has persuaded me
to go to Switzerland with him. I shall be away for a week or two, and
will let you hear from me in the meantime. Narramore says I am looking
vastly better, and it is you I have to thank for this. Without you, my
attempts at 'enjoying life' would have been a poor business. We start
in an hour or two,--Yours ever,
"MAURICE HILLIARD."