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Eve looked him in the face.

“There was a label on that brick—‘Not to be Thrown,’ ” she said. “We’ve all got two or three bricks labelled like that—‘Do Not Touch,’ ‘Dangerous.’ ... I think from what you said that brick is marked ‘Dangerous’ too.”

Jeremy bowed his head.

“Yes.”

“Jeremy,” said Eve, “you’ve something I haven’t got—thousands of things, of course, but especially one. And that’s my respect.”

Her husband smiled.

Then he extended his arms and brought her face to his chin.

“You’ve got mine, any way,” he said.

“Rot.”

Jeremy nodded solemnly.

“To tell you the truth,” he said, “you never lost it. If you could have seen yourself....”

“A sulky child,” said Eve.

“No,” said Broke. “A—a princess.”

“That’s not what you married.”

“I know. But that was your fault. You went and gave me my choice.”

A mischievous look stole into the big brown eyes.

“What a fool I was,” said Eve and put up her mouth.

If the Brokes had slid back for ten months, for the next six they went steadily forward, hand in hand. It was the strangest progress. Luxury, Idleness, Ease certainly came behind, but dutifully, as servants should. A jovial Discipline jogged by their side. Respect and Self-Respect marched solemnly ahead.