She tried to keep her voice level, but he detected the break.

"Eve," he said, quickly, "won't you let me take you away from here?
You've no business in this sort of game. You're not tough enough.
You've got to be loved and made a fuss of and----"

She laughed shakily.

"Perhaps you can give me the address of some lady who wants a companion
to love and make a fuss of?"

"I can give you the address of a man."

She rested an arm on the mantelpiece and stood looking into the blaze,
without replying.

Before he could speak again there was a step outside the door, and Mrs.
Rastall-Retford rustled into the room.

Eve had not misread the storm-signals. Her employer's mood was still as
it had been earlier in the day. Dinner passed in almost complete
silence. Mrs. Rastall-Retford sat brooding dumbly. Her eye was cold and
menacing, and Peter, working his way through his vegetables, shuddered
for Eve. He had understood her allusion to bridge, having been
privileged several times during his stay to see his hostess play that
game, and he hoped that there would be no bridge to-night.

And this was unselfish of him, for bridge meant sandwiches. Punctually
at nine o'clock on bridge nights the butler would deposit on a