"Are you seriously concerned for me?" said his friend. "Does it seem
a piece of madness?"

"You must judge for yourself, Narramore."

"When you have seen her I think you'll take my views. Of course it's
the very last thing I ever imagined myself doing; but I begin to see
that the talk about fate isn't altogether humbug. I want this girl
for my wife, and I never met any one else whom I really _did_ want.
She suits me exactly. It isn't as if I thought of marrying an
ordinary, ignorant, low-class girl. Eve--that's her name--is
very much out of the common, look at her how you may. She's rather
melancholy, but that's a natural result of her life."

"No doubt, as you say, she wants a thorough change," remarked
Hilliard, smiling in the gloom.

"That's it. Her nerves are out of order. Well, I thought I should
like to tell you this, old chap. You'll get over the shock in time.
I more than half believe, still, that your moral indignation was
genuine. And why not? I ought to respect you for it."

"Are you going?"

"I must be in Bristol Road by five--promised to drink a cup of
Mrs. Stocker's tea this afternoon. I'm glad now that I have kept up
a few homely acquaintances; they may be useful, Of course I shall
throw over the Birchings and that lot. You see now why my thoughts
have been running on a country house!"