Hilliard had undoubtedly improved in personal appearance. He grew a
beard, which added to his seeming age, but suited with his features;
his carriage was more upright than of old.

A week or two after this, Narramore sent a friendly note--

"Shall I see you at Birching's on Sunday? My wife will be there, to
meet Miss Marks and some other people. Come if you can, old fellow. I
should take it as a great kindness."

And Hilliard went. In the hall he was confronted by Narramore, who
shook hands with him rather effusively, and said a few words in an
undertone.

"She's out in the garden. Will be delighted to see you. Awfully good of
you, old boy! Had to come sooner or later, you know."

Not quite assured of this necessity, and something less than composed,
Hilliard presently passed through the house into the large walled
garden behind it. Here he was confusedly aware of a group of ladies,
not one of whom, on drawing nearer, did he recognise. A succession of
formalities discharged, he heard his friend's voice saying--

"Hilliard, let me introduce you to my wife."

There before him stood Eve. He had only just persuaded himself of her
identity; his eyes searched her countenance with wonder which barely
allowed him to assume a becoming attitude. But Mrs. Narramore was
perfect in society's drill. She smiled very sweetly, gave her hand,
said what the occasion demanded. Among the women present--all well
bred--she suffered no obscurement. Her voice was tuned to the
appropriate harmony; her talk invited to an avoidance of the hackneyed.

Hilliard revived his memories of Gower Place--of the streets of Paris.
Nothing preternatural had come about; nothing that he had not
forecasted in his hours of hope. But there were incidents in the past
which this moment blurred away into the region of dreamland, and which
he shrank from the effort of reinvesting with credibility.

"This is a pleasant garden."

Eve had approached him as he stood musing, after a conversation with
other ladies.

"Rather new, of course; but a year will do wonders. Have you seen the
chrysanthemums?"

She led him apart, as they stood regarding the flowers, Hilliard was
surprised by words that fell from her.

"Your contempt for me is beyond expression, isn't it?"

"It is the last feeling I should associate with you," he answered.

"Oh, but be sincere. We have both learnt to speak another language--you
no less than I. Let me hear a word such as you used