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Something of the girl’s stately and exquisite poise forsook her. Her eyes wore a hunted look for a moment. She even felt obliged to laugh to cover her confusion.

“It’s my heart,” said Fitz. “I saw you–and that is all there is to it.”

“Aren’t you in something of a hurry?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. She had felt for a moment like a soldier surprised without weapons. But now, once more, she felt herself armed cap a pie.

“I’ve got to be,” said Fitz. “I’m a bank clerk on a two weeks’ vacation, of which the first day is gone.”

She was sorry that he was a bank clerk; it had a poor and meagre sound. It was not for him that she had been trained. She had been made to slave for herself, and was to make a “continental” marriage with the highest bidder. Eve’s heart had been pretty well schooled out of her, and yet, before dinner came to an end, she found herself wishing that among the high bidders might be one very young, like the man at her side, with eyes as honest, and who, to express admiration, beat about no bushes.

Later, when they said good-by, Fitz said:

“It would be good for me to see you to-morrow.”

And she said:

“Would it be good for me?” and laughed.

“Yes,” he said firmly, “it would.”

“Why?” she asked.

“To-morrow at four,” said Fitz, “I shall come for you and take you around the Cliff Walk and tell you.”

She made no promise. But the next day, when Fitz called at the cottage which Mrs. Burton, by scraping and saving these many years, had managed to take for the season, Eve was at home–and she was alone.

VI

Newport, as a whole, was busy preparing for the national lawn-tennis championship. There was a prince to be pampered and entertained, and every night, from the door of some great house or other, a strip of red carpet protruded, covered by an awning, and the coming and going of smart carriages on Bellevue Avenue seemed double that of the week before. But the affair between James Holden–who was nobody knew who, and came from nobody knew exactly where–and Newport’s reigning beauty held the real centre of the stage.

Beautiful though Eve was, natural and unaffected though she seemed, people had but to glance at Mrs. Burton’s old, hard, humorless, at once anxious and triumphant face to know that the girl, willing or not, was a victim prepared for sacrifice. Confessedly poor, obviously extravagant and luxury-loving, even the rich men who wanted to marry her knew that Eve must consider purses more than hearts. And they held themselves cynically off and allowed what was known as “Holden’s pipe-dream” to run its course. It amused those who wanted Eve, those who thought they did, and all those who loved a spectacle. “He will go back to his desk presently,” said the cynics, “and that will be the end of that.” The hero of the pipe-dream thought this at times himself. Well, if it turned out that way Eve was not worth having. He believed that she had a heart, that if her heart were touched she would fling her interests to the winds and obey its dictates.

What Eve thought during the first few days of Holden’s pipe-dream is not clearly known. She must have been greatly taken with him, or she would not have allowed him to interfere with her plans for personal advancement and aggrandizement, to make a monopoly of her society, and to run his head so violently into a stone wall. After the first few days, when she realized that she liked to be with him better than with any one she had ever known, she probably thought–or to that effect–“I’ll just pretend a little–and have it to remember.” But she found herself lying awake at night, wishing that he was rich; and later, not even wishing, just lying awake and suffering. She had made up her mind some time since to accept Darius O’Connell before the end of the season. He had a prodigious fortune, good habits, and a kind Irish way with him. And she still told herself that it must be O’Connell, and she lay awake and thought about Fitz and suffered.