"I say, Eve, you _are_ going it!"

This exclamation from the other girl was the last sentence that fell
on Hilliard's ear. They both tripped off towards the cab which Eve's
gesture had summoned. He saw them jump in and drive away.

"I say, Eve, you _are_ going it!" Why, there his doubt was settled;
the name confirmed him in his identification. But he stood
motionless with astonishment.

They were going to a theatre, of course. And Eve spoke as if money
were of no consequence to her. She had the look, the tones, of one
bent on enjoying herself, of one who habitually pursued pleasure,
and that in its most urban forms.

Her companion had a voice of thinner quality, of higher note, which
proclaimed a subordinate character. It sounded, moreover, with the
London accent, while Eve's struck a more familiar note to the man of
the Midlands. Eve seemed to be the elder of the two; it could not be
thought for a moment that her will was guided by that of the more
trivial girl.

Eve Madeley--the meek, the melancholy, the long-suffering, the
pious--what did it all mean?

Utterly bewildered, the young man walked on without thought of
direction, and rambled dreamily about the streets for an hour or
two. He could not make up his mind whether or not to fulfil the
promise of calling to see Miss Madeley to-morrow morning. At one
moment he regretted having taken lodgings in Gower Place; at another