away from the door. Now! what can I
do for you? But I know, of course. You've fallen a victim to Eve
Bisdee and her _beaux yeux_. They _are_ beautiful! It's about once in
a lifetime that one meets an Englishwoman with such eyes as hers. It
seems superfluous to have a tongue, when all that one feels can be
expressed so eloquently in a glance. Even now her eyes are wonderful;
but if you'd seen her as a girl, before--"

"Before what? That's what I am waiting to hear. What happened to her?
Some tragedy, of course. Tell me about it."

Mrs Melhuish gave him a searching glance.

"You realised that--that she is not--like other people?"

Rupert's smile was half sad, half triumphant.

"Not in the least like other people. But we can discuss that later on.
I am waiting for your story."

Mrs Melhuish leaned her head on her hand and her face fell into
thoughtful lines.

"I've known Eve since she was a girl of eighteen--the loveliest thing!--
and as gay and sweet as she was lovely. She was an only child, and her
parents adored her, and--what is by no means so usual!--she adored them
in return. They were not rich--quite poor, in fact; but the family was
exceptional, and everyone visited them. When Eve came out, Mrs Bisdee
used to give charming little evenings, so simple and unpretentious, but
so well done. Eve was so different, too, from the ordinary fair, placid
English girl that she made quite a sensation in the county. We expected
her to make a great match. Then one day they were all travelling
together to Burnham to attend a hunt ball, and the train they were in--"
Mrs Melhuish shuddered, as at a terrible remembrance. "You will
remember it--the Tunford accident--a terrible affair! Over sixty
passengers killed in the most appalling circumstances. Eve escaped.
She was travelling with a friend in the rear part of the train. They
were pulled out and carried up the bank, and there that poor child stood
and looked on, helpless, maddened, while her parents and the other poor
wretches in the wrecked carriages lay pinned down, devoured by the
names. Oh, my dear man, we read of such things, we agonise over them,
or we _think_ we agonise, but imagine the real thing! Seeing, hearing,
within a few yards, yet as powerless to help as though one were at the
other side of the world... Well! Eve went through that torture, and it
wrecked her life. She had brain fever, and when that passed, her mind
remained--what sha