"What satisfaction?" repeated little Eve Edgarton perplexedly. "What
satisfaction?" Between her placid brows a very black frown deepened.
"Why, just the satisfaction," she said, "of knowing before you die,
that you had definitely diverted to your own personality that much
specific treasure out of the--out of the--world's chaotic maelstrom of
generalities."

"Eh?" said Barton. "What? For Heaven's sake say it again!"

"Why--just the satisfaction--" began Eve Edgarton. Then abruptly the
sullen lines grayed down again around her mouth.

"It seems funny to me, Mr. Barton," she almost whined, "that anybody
as big as you are--shouldn't be able to understand anybody as little
as--I am. But if I only had an attic!" she cried out with apparent
irrelevance. "Oh, if just once in my whole life I could have even so
much as an atticful of home! Oh, please--please--please, Mr. Barton!"
she pleaded. "Oh, please!"

Precipitously she lifted her small brown face to his, and in her eyes
he saw the strangest little unfinished expression flame up suddenly
and go out again, a little fleeting expression so sweet, so shy, so
transcendently lovely, that if it had ever lived to reach her frowning
brow, her sulky little mouth, her--!

Then startlingly into his stare, into his amazement, broke a great
white glare through the opening of the cave.

"My God!" he winced, with his elbow across his eyes.