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“You are.”

Miss Carew shrugged her white shoulders.

“I’m still unmarried,” she said.

“That,” said Jeremy Broke, “is your little fault. At least, Rumour has it that you’ve turned a good many down.”

“Rumour is wrong,” said Eve. “I admit I’ve had one or two overtures, but the idea of being married for my money never appealed to me.”

“I shouldn’t have thought,” said Broke, “that you need be afraid. If you were forty, instead of twenty-four; if you had a face like the back of a hansom; if——”

“Here,” said Eve. “Don’t cut out the gilt. There was the making of a compliment. Besides, I value your opinion. What is my face like, Jeremy?”

The man regarded her.

“It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“My mouth,” said Eve, “is too large.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Broke. “It’s just perfect. So’s your nose, an’—an’ the rest. That’s why it seems so wicked to cut your hair.”

“Was it my face that attracted you—last year?”

The man considered.

“Your face and your pretty ways.”

“You just felt you wanted to know me?”