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?"
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