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diff --git a/29041-h/29041-h.htm b/29041-h/29041-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f91a5b2 --- /dev/null +++ b/29041-h/29041-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10793 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Education of Eric Lane, by Stephen McKenna. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal;} + +.lowercase {text-transform: lowercase;} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + +// --> + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Education of Eric Lane, by Stephen McKenna + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Education of Eric Lane + +Author: Stephen McKenna + +Release Date: June 5, 2009 [EBook #29041] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE *** + + + + +Produced by Susan Skinner, Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h2>THE SENSATIONALISTS: II</h2> + +<h1>THE EDUCATION OF<br />ERIC LANE</h1> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p class='center' style="font-size: x-large; margin-bottom: 10em;"><b>STEPHEN McKENNA</b></p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class='center' style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="smcap">By STEPHEN McKENNA</span></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>THE SENSATIONALISTS</li> +<li><ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li><span class="smcap">Part One</span>: LADY LILITH</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Part Two</span>: THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE</li> +<li><span class="smcap">Part Three</span>: <i>In preparation</i></li></ul></li> +<li>SONIA MARRIED</li> +<li>SONIA</li> +<li>MIDAS AND SON</li> +<li>NINETY-SIX HOURS' LEAVE</li> +<li>THE SIXTH SENSE</li> +<li>SHEILA INTERVENES</li></ul> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p class='center'> +NEW YORK<br /> +GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div style="border-style: double; margin: 5em;"> +<h1> +THE EDUCATION OF<br /> +ERIC LANE +</h1> + +<h2><span style="font-size: small;">BY</span><br /> +STEPHEN McKENNA</h2> + +<p class='center'> +AUTHOR OF "LADY LILITH," "SONIA MARRIED,"<br /> +"MIDAS AND SON," "SONIA," "NINETY-SIX<br /> +HOURS' LEAVE," ETC.</p> +<p class='center' style="font-size: large; margin-top: 3em;"> +NEW YORK<br /> +GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY +</p> +</div> + + + + +<p class='center'> +COPYRIGHT, 1921,<br /> +BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br /> +<br /> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /> +</p> + + + + +<p class='center' style="margin: 5em;"> +TO<br /> +<span style="font-size: large;">THE WITTIEST WOMAN<br /> +IN LONDON</span> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>CHAPTER</td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">An Experiment in Emotion</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Lady Barbara Neave</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Lashmar Mill-House</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Intermezzo</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mortmain</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Dame's School Education</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Education for Those of Riper Years</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Strongest Thing of All</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Education of Barbara Neave</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1 style="margin: 3em;">THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE</h1> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Because lust was not good enough, the Celt invented romance."</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +—<i><span class="smcap">Shane Leslie</span>: The End of a Chapter.</i></p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">{11}</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1 style="margin: 3em;">THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_ONE" id="CHAPTER_ONE"></a>CHAPTER ONE<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">AN EXPERIMENT IN EMOTION</span></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"… A genial … bachelor, whom the outside world called +selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him.…"</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Oscar Wilde: "The Picture of Dorian Gray</span>." +</p></div> + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>Eric Lane, visible only from ear to chin above the water-line, peered +through the steam of the bathroom at a travelling-clock on his +dressing-table. The bath would have been improved by another half +handful of verbena salts; but, even lacking this, the water was still +too hot to be lightly dismissed with an aggrieved gurgle down the +waste-pipe. It was an added self-indulgence to know that, if he lay +gently boiling himself for more than another minute, he would be late +for dinner with Lady Poynter; but, if any one had to suffer, let it be +Lady Poynter. It was not his fault that the rehearsal of "The +Bomb-Shell" had dragged on until after seven; something had to be +sacrificed—the letters which his secretary had left for him to sign, or +the hot bath, or the cigarette and glass of sherry as he dressed, or (in +the last resort and quite obviously) Lady Poynter. He had already +foregone a cocktail, which would have made him two minutes later.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">{12}</a></span></p> + +<p>As the water began to cool, Eric threw a towel over his shoulders, wiped +the steam from the face of the clock and began to dry himself slowly, +looking round with ever-fresh delight at the calculated ingenuity of +comfort in his new flat. It was his reward for the successful play. For +ten years after coming down from Oxford he had lived in the Temple, +first with Jack Waring and afterwards by himself; lonely, hard-working +years, when he had painfully learned the value of money and time. With +one play running indefatigably, another rehearsing and a third in sight +of completion, he had decided to construct a frame better suited to his +new position. Ten years ago he had dreamed at Oxford of a day when he +would burst upon London as a new young Byron; and, when the dream was +almost forgotten, he found himself living in its midst. He was courted +and quoted, photographed and "paragraphed"; Lady Poynter and the rich, +malcontent world which aspired to intelligence humbly invited him to +dine, and it did not matter whether she wanted to pay him homage or to +exhibit him as her latest celebrity. It was time to leave the Temple and +to burst, fully equipped, upon London. A friend in the artillery made +over the remainder of his lease, and Eric gave himself a fortnight's +holiday to order the furnishing and decoration of the six tiny rooms. +When he surveyed telephone and dictaphone, switches and presses, files +and cases, tables and lights, he felt that the ease and beauty of which +he had dreamed were dulled and stunted by the reality.</p> + +<p>Over the dressing-table hung a framed poster of his play: "<i>Regency +Theatre</i>" in a scroll of blue lettering: "<i>A Divorce Has Been Arranged</i>" +under it; then his own name; then the cast. Eric looked affectionately +at the trophy, as he began to comb his dripping, black hair. He was +proud of the play and grateful to it; grateful for money, reputation and +the added importance of himself. As he entered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">{13}</a></span> the Carlton that day one +unknown woman had whispered to another, "Isn't that Eric Lane? I thought +he was older." He was boy enough to be gratified that seventeen people +had stopped him that morning between Grosvenor Street and Piccadilly. +Eight months ago no one outside Fleet Street or the Thespian Club had +heard of him. Jack Waring and O'Rane, Loring and Deganway always seemed +to regard him as a harmless eccentric who wrote unacceptable plays for +his own amusement.…</p> + +<p>The hair-brushing completed, he put on a dressing-gown and crossed the +hall to his smoking-room for the sherry and cigarette. On the table lay +a pile of typewritten letters, awaiting his signature, and another pile +not yet opened and secured from the late summer breeze by a glass +paper-weight. It was shaped like a horse-shoe and had been sent him on +his first night, to be followed by a telegram: "<i>Best wishes for all +possible success Agnes.</i>" He had kept it for luck and in gratitude to +Agnes Waring, who had been a sympathetic, if rather undiscriminating, +friend for many years. Until eight months ago he had never earned enough +money to think of marrying; and, at thirty-two, he told himself that he +was not a marrying man; but more than once in the early hours of triumph +he had thought of Agnes and of his own return to Lashmar; they had often +talked jestingly of the day when he would come back famous, and behind +the jest lay a hint of romance and sentiment which told him that she was +waiting for him and believed in his success when he himself doubted it.</p> + +<p>Next to the letters lay an album in which his secretary had at last +finished pasting his press-cuttings. He could not resist the temptation +to glance at two or three of his favourite notices before opening the +letters. The critics had treated him kindly, for he had been a critic +himself and had not scrupled to secure a good press; but mere flattery +never kept a bad play running.… He decided<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">{14}</a></span> that he was going to +enjoy his dinner with the Poynters, though the chiming of the clock in +the hall warned him that he could not hope to be dressed and in Belgrave +Square by a quarter past eight. The new Byron would achieve an effect, +if he gained the reputation of <i>always</i> being ten minutes late for +everything; but the pose offended Eric's sense of tidiness. Signing his +letters, he ripped open half-a-dozen envelopes and glanced at the +contents, pushed the news-cutting album neatly into its shelf and +hurried into his bedroom with a glass of sherry in his hand.</p> + +<p>It was time to order a taxi, and a tall Scotch parlour-maid, of whom he +lived in secret dread, came in answer to his ring. He would have +preferred a man, but men were unprocurable in war-time. He let fall a +word of instruction on the correct way of laying out dress-clothes and +was beginning to get ready in earnest, when the telephone-bell rang +simultaneously in bedroom, bathroom, dining-room and smoking-room. As he +finished his sherry, he tried to remember where he had left the +instrument.</p> + +<p>"Hul-lo," he cried, exploring to see whether the bathroom chair was dry.</p> + +<p>"That you, Ricky? Sybil speaking. I say, are you coming down on +Saturday? You've not been here for months, and we want to see you."</p> + +<p>Eric sighed patiently before he remembered that the sigh was unlikely to +carry as far as Winchester. The prophet could look for affection in his +own country and in his own house; he would not find honour.</p> + +<p>"If you feel I'm essential to the family happiness——" he began.</p> + +<p>"You're not. But we've got some people dining on Saturday—Agnes Waring +amongst others. You can bring your work with you.… Say you'll come, +like a good boy, and don't be selfish."</p> + +<p>"Well, I might," Eric answered. "Good-bye, Sybil."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">{15}</a></span></p> + +<p>"You needn't be in such a hurry! What are you doing to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I'm being—<i>extraordinarily</i>—late for dinner with some people I don't +know," he answered.</p> + +<p>His sister's voice in reply was slightly aggrieved.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't detain you for worlds. I only wanted to know if you'd seen a +full-page photograph of yourself——"</p> + +<p>"In the 'Gallery.' Yes, I know the editor and I got him to shove it in. +As my own advertising agent, I take a lot of beating. Good-bye, Sybil."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, selfish pig. You're being spoilt by success, you know."</p> + +<p>Eric made no answer, but, as he snatched up his hat and cane, still more +as he settled himself in the taxi with his feet on the opposite seat, he +reflected with philosophic indulgence how wide of the mark his sister +had fired. He was self-satisfied, perhaps, as he had some reason to be; +self-sufficient, assuredly, as he had set out to become. After all, he +could have entered the Civil Service ten years before, as his father had +wished; and there would have been ten years of material comfort, an +unchallengeable social position, a wife, a home, spiritual paralysis and +soul-destroying domestic worries as his portion. Instead, he had elected +to make his own way in a hard and somewhat despised school. A young +journalist had no status. People invited him to their houses, because he +had been at the same college as their sons, because other people had +already taken the plunge; but he had always had enough detachment to +recognize where the intimacy was to stop.</p> + +<p>Now he was being accepted at his own valuation. As he passed the Ritz, +two officers and a girl hailed a taxi and told the driver to take them +to the Regency. At eleven o'clock they would be saying: "Good show, +that." (Had he not loitered in the hall of the theatre, with coat-collar +turned up, to hear just that?) In another month they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">{16}</a></span> would be going to +"The Bomb-Shell," because it was by the fellow who wrote "A Divorce Has +Been Arranged."… He had money, friends, adulators and the health to +do a full day's work. In speaking to Sybil, he had only hesitated +because he was not sure whether he wanted to meet Agnes Waring yet. When +they became engaged.… <i>If</i> they became engaged, he would lose in +interest with the women like Lady Poynter who were always inviting him +to be lionized.…</p> + +<p>As the taxi drew up in Belgrave Square, he looked at his watch. +Twenty-seven minutes past eight. He handed his hat and cane to a footman +and followed the butler upstairs with complete self-possession. As he +was asked his name at the door of the drawing-room, however, he +stammered:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Eric L-lane."</p> + +<p>It was intolerable that he could not overcome that stammer, so entirely +alien to a new young Byron.…</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>Lady Poynter had finished dressing and was writing in her diary when her +maid entered to ask whether Mrs. Shelley might come in. At luncheon the +Duchess of Ross had complained that no one would give her a chance of +meeting young Eric Lane; Gerald Deganway had murmured, "One poor martyr +without a lion"; and, as Deganway was incapable of originating anything, +Lady Poynter felt that she was not infringing any copyright in recording +the jest against that day when Eleanor Ross tried to steal any more of +her young men the moment she had put a polish on them and made them +known.…</p> + +<p>"Angel Marion!" cried Lady Poynter, throwing down her pen so that it +described an inky semi-circle. "The idea of asking!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">{17}</a></span></p> + +<p>She embraced her guest as effusively as she had addressed her. Lady +Poynter was forty-eight years of age, daily increasing in bulk, +masculine in voice, intellectual through vanity and childless by +preference. Her husband was rich, patient, stupid and self-indulgent, +bearing with her literary passions and in self-defence displaying that +care for household comfort which it was Lady Poynter's pride to neglect. +Why, she asked, were men given brains if they made gods of their +bellies? Mrs. Shelley was the widow of a well-known free-lance +journalist, who in his day had brought her into contact with a +sufficient number of authors for her to imitate on austerely simple +lines the symposia of wit and learning which Lady Poynter assembled on +the strength of her own personality and her husband's cellar. There was +a long-standing gentle competition between the two, which they abandoned +in common hostility to Lady Maitland, who excelled them both in the +ruthlessness and speed of her hunting. At the moment, however, Mrs. +Shelley had eclipsed both her rivals by the chance of having known Eric +Lane for ten years; to Lady Maitland he was still "Mr. Eric," to Lady +Poynter "Mr. Lane."</p> + +<p>"You don't mind my coming like this, do you?" she asked timidly, +disengaging herself from Lady Poynter's embrace and indicating her +commandant's uniform. "I was at the hospital until eight."</p> + +<p>"As if I minded what you wore!" her hostess cried. "In war-time, when we +haven't a moment to turn round … ! And it isn't as if this were a +party."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Shelley walked to a mirror and looked thoughtfully at her +unassertive reflection. Her hair was a dusty brown, her eyes an +unsoftening grey, and her cheeks, which were careworn with exacting, +humble ambition, acted at once as frame and background for a thin nose +and unrelaxing mouth.</p> + +<p>"You always say that, darling," she protested gently,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">{18}</a></span> leaning forward +to the mirror and dabbing at herself with a powder-puff. "And it means +the <i>most</i> delightful——"</p> + +<p>"I've got Eric Lane coming," interrupted Lady Poynter, groping for a +crumpled half-sheet of paper marked as with the sweeping strokes of a +hay-rake in soft mud. "Who else? Sonia O'Rane you know; Max—or did Max +say he was dining at his club? It doesn't matter, because I can't +pretend that Max contributes much, even though he is my husband; then +there's my nephew, Johnnie Gaymer; and Babs Neave——"</p> + +<p>"Dear Babs," murmured Mrs. Shelley with conscientious enthusiasm. It was +her favourite boast that she sincerely tried to make allowances for all +and permitted ill-speaking of none. In the years before the war, when +Lady Barbara's friends were wondering whether they really could continue +to know her, Mrs. Shelley remained embarrassingly loyal. "I haven't seen +her for months."</p> + +<p>"She's been nursing at Crawleigh all this time, simply wearing herself +out. I've never seen any one so changed. We met in Bond Street this +morning; I hadn't <i>meant</i> to invite her, but I felt I must do +<i>some</i>thing.…" Lady Poynter projected herself from the sofa and +rustled to the door, murmuring: "I <i>must</i> find out whether Max is dining +at home to-night."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Shelley made her way downstairs to the drawing-room and stood on +the balcony outside one of the French windows, looking down through the +warm dusk on Belgrave Square. An open taxi drew up at the door, and she +watched Mrs. O'Rane descending daintily and smiling at the driver; a +second taxi drove from the opposite corner of the square, and Captain +Gaymer, in Flying Corps uniform, jumped out and hurried to the door, +looking apprehensively at his watch. Mrs. Shelley left the balcony and +shook hands with Lord Poynter who was dutifully dressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">{19}</a></span> in time to +receive any guests who might arrive before his wife appeared.</p> + +<p>"Two. Four," he counted timidly. "Babs Neave is sure to be late. That +leaves only Lane. Does every one know him?"</p> + +<p>An indistinct murmur was drowned by Gaymer, who knitted his brows and +repeated:</p> + +<p>"Lane? Eric Lane? The dramatist fellow? I saw something about him in one +of the picture-papers to-day, when I was having my hair cut. Oh, I know! +He'd left London, and letters weren't going to be forwarded. Didn't he +tell you?" he asked as his aunt crossed the room in concern.</p> + +<p>Lady Poynter's jaw fell in affronted indignation. Lady Maitland had +already secured Mr. Lane for luncheon, the Duchess of Ross had wired: +"Don't know you but must. Have just seen your play. When will you dine?" +and Mrs. Shelley had staked out a claim before any one else had heard of +the man.</p> + +<p>"That is really <i>too</i> abominable," she cried. "He made a note of the +time in his book … only two days ago.… And then he hasn't the +consideration even to telephone."</p> + +<p>She counted the numbers and turned angrily, as the door was thrown open. +After pausing on the threshold to see who was present, Lady Barbara +Neave entered the room falteringly and with a suggestion that she was +belatedly repenting a too venturesome effect in dress. The men, she +knew, were only watching her eyes and waiting for the surprised smile of +recognition which always made them feel that they had been missed; but +Mrs. Shelley, she would wager, was privately noting that a dove-coloured +silk dress and a scarlet shawl embroidered with birds in flight made a +white face look ashen; Sonia O'Rane was probably wondering why her maid +did not tell her that a band of black tulle with a red rose at one side +simply emphasized her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">{20}</a></span> hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.… She moved +listlessly and smiled mysteriously to herself as though unconscious that +every one was silent and watchful; then the surprised smile transfigured +her, she kissed the other women with childlike abandon, leaving the men +to watch and envy.</p> + +<p>"Babs, darling, it <i>is</i> sweet of you to come. I've no party for you," +said Lady Poynter, forgiving the girl's lateness and forgetting her own +discomfiture.</p> + +<p>Barbara shook her head and looked round the room with eyes which had +lost their momentary colour, as though the light behind them had been +doused.</p> + +<p>"I've forgotten what it's like to meet people and try to talk +intelligently," she laughed with the mirthlessness of physical +exhaustion. "Well, Max! And Johnnie! I'm sorry to be late, Margaret, but +until the last moment I didn't know that I should feel up to coming."</p> + +<p>"If <i>you</i>'d thrown me over, too——" began Lady Poynter. "Give us some +light, Max. My dear, you're losing all your looks, and that black thing +gives you a face like a sheet of mourning note-paper. You <i>must</i> take +proper care of yourself. And you're nothing but skin and bones."</p> + +<p>Barbara smiled again, as listlessly as before.</p> + +<p>"Yes. My maid has given notice; I don't do her credit.… But I'm a +dull subject of conversation. How's dear Marion been all this time?"</p> + +<p>She broke up the group by drawing Mrs. Shelley to a sofa with her and +again looked cautiously round the room. This was the first time that she +had dined out since her illness, almost the first time since the +beginning of the war; and the light and noise, magnified by fancy and +sensitive nerves, made her dizzy. Her mother and the doctor had tried to +keep her at home; but natural obstinacy and uncontrollable whim had been +too much for them. A few weeks ago she had fainted in the train, as she +returned to London from Crawleigh Abbey; an unknown man had taken care<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">{21}</a></span> +of her, but, though she remembered his voice, she was too giddy to see +or recall his face. On arriving at her father's house in Berkeley +Square, she found her fingers grasping a silver flask with a monogram +"E. L."; and that morning, when Lady Poynter invited her to dinner, she +had divined that "E. L." must stand for Eric Lane. The coincidence would +not have been worth following by itself, but in the latter days of her +illness she had repeatedly dreamed of a child with the stranger's voice; +and, vaguely and shamefacedly, Barbara believed that dreams had an +influence on life and were glimpses beyond the veil of the unknown. She +was coming to believe, too, in predestination as the one cause able to +explain a long series of isolated acts for which she could not hold +herself responsible; and to-night predestination would be put to the +test, for half-a-dozen people had already invited her to meet Eric Lane +and for one reason or another she had never been able to accept. It was +the thought that she might be meeting him at last which had so taken +away her composure that she had hardly been able to cross the room.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't think it's worth waiting," muttered Lady Poynter, her +indignation returning reinforced by hunger. "You might ring the bell, +Max, and find whether any telephone message <i>has</i> been received——"</p> + +<p>"It's Eric Lane," Mrs. Shelley explained. "Captain Gaymer was saying +that he'd left London."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I'm sorry. I've never met him," said Barbara.</p> + +<p>Evidently she was predestined never to meet him; and the noise and light +made her too giddy to decide whether she was relieved or disappointed. +Predestination was winning another round; and, while she was ill and +unresisting, it was comforting to feel that she was not responsible for +all the follies and the one crime which had ruined her life; but it was +sad to feel that she would never meet the hero of her dream-romance. He +might have filled the whole of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">{22}</a></span> a life that for a year had been empty +and aching; at the lowest computation, their meeting would have been an +experiment in emotion.…</p> + +<p>Lord Poynter had shambled flat-footedly half-way to the bell, when the +door was thrown open again and the butler announced "Mr. Eric Lane." +There was a tiny stir of interest among those who had not met him and of +surprise among all. Eric's eyes narrowed for a moment under the light of +the chandelier; then he collected himself, swiftly identified Lady +Poynter and shook her hand with a murmur of apology for his lateness.</p> + +<p>"But, dear man, we'd given you up!" she exclaimed. "Why did you frighten +us by announcing in the papers that you'd left London? You've not met +Max, have you?"</p> + +<p>Eric shook hands with Lord Poynter.</p> + +<p>"That was my s-secretary," he explained. Shyness was rushing in waves to +his head, and he could only save himself from disgrace by pretending to +be more icily collected than any one in the room. "I'm f-frightfully +overworked at present with rehearsals and things, so I applied for a +f-fortnight's leave from my department and everybody thinks I'm +f-fishing in Scotland or doing a walking tour on Dartmoor. This party is +my f-final dissipation, Lady Poynter."</p> + +<p>He looked round to see with whom he had still to shake hands. As he +began to speak, Barbara had shivered so violently that Mrs. Shelley +turned at the movement; then she tried to remember even seeing his face +as he bent over her in the train and carried her along the platform at +Waterloo. She was paralyzed with dread of the moment when he would +recognize her, for she had nothing adequate to the drama of their +meeting.… He shook hands first with those nearest to him, and she +hastened to make a mental picture before he saw that she was watching +him; black hair, a thin face restless with vitality, bloodless lips<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">{23}</a></span> +tightly shut and eyes that were out of keeping with the assurance of the +face—eyes unexpectedly big and soft, deep in colour and timid in +expression, reminding her of the stammer and quick eagerness of his +speech.</p> + +<p>He was shaking hands now with Mrs. Shelley, and Barbara grew rigid with +fear. His face turned, and their eyes met; but he passed on to Gaymer +without recognizing her. She found herself trembling with relief; and +the reaction swept away disappointment and all interest but dislike. +Voice and eyes, movements and manner became hateful to her; she longed +for an opportunity of upsetting his precarious composure, of pricking +his conceit and hurting him. If Margaret Poynter did not put her next to +him, she would walk out of the room and go home.…</p> + +<p>The butler entered to announce that dinner was served, and Lady Poynter, +with an unconcentrated "Babs, you haven't met Mr. Lane, have you?" tried +to remember her ordering of the table.</p> + +<p>"Tell me who 'Babs' is," Eric begged in an undertone, as he and Gaymer +prepared to follow the others down to the dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Babs Neave? Don't you know her?" Gaymer asked in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by name, of course. I didn't recognize her."</p> + +<p>"She's been rather ill, I think."</p> + +<p>As he pulled his napkin out of its folds, Eric stole a glance at +Barbara. By sight he had known her distantly for years as a girl who +hardly missed a first night or private view; she was always to be found +acting, reciting or at least selling programmes at charity <i>matinées</i>; +he had seen her at Stage Society performances, and the illustrated +papers gave her a full-page photograph after any of the big costume +balls. And, like most of his generation, he knew her by reputation +better than by sight; for half-a-dozen years her epigrams and escapades +had been on every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">{24}</a></span> one's lips; while he was still at Oxford and she a +child of twelve, her cousin Lord Loring had wondered despairingly what +was to be done with her. On the disclosure of her name, Eric had +expected to see some one flamboyant and assertive. He was relieved to +find her quiet and reserved, a little hostile, perhaps bored and +certainly ill.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry to hear you've not been well," he began timidly. Her +expression and the angle at which she was seated convinced him that he +had left an unfavourable impression on her, and he half feared a rebuff. +"I suppose, like every one else, you've been overworking?"</p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>"You'll find me thoroughly dull," Barbara announced abruptly, with the +candour of one who studies her effects and with a brusqueness which +discouraged further advances. "The doctor says—oh, Mrs. O'Rane's trying +to attract your attention."</p> + +<p>Eric felt himself dismissed and, submitting to her hint, looked over the +malachite bowls of white roses to the place where Mrs. O'Rane was +leaning forward with one elbow on the table and her other hand +repressing Gaymer. The cast of the "Divorce" was being slightly changed, +and they had thought it worth while to venture a sovereign on the name +of one nonentity who was retiring in favour of another. Eric adjudicated +in Gaymer's favour and was turning to give Barbara a last chance, when +he found that the flood-gates were open and that every one, taking his +time from Lady Poynter, was prepared to discuss dramatic art in general +and, in particular, the construction and history of his play. Their +enquiries were simple-minded; bombarded from four different quarters at +once, he took the questions at the volley; then, as they seemed +interested, he became more expansive, losing his stammer and straying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">{25}</a></span> +unconsciously into an unrehearsed lecture. There were occasional +objections and challenges; but Lady Poynter silenced them ruthlessly +with a "Now, my dear, you mustn't interrupt when Mr. Lane's explaining +the whole basis of his art," and he discovered suddenly that he was +talking well.</p> + +<p>"I expect you're tired of hearing it, but I <i>loved</i> that play of yours," +said his hostess with a beaming glance which confidently asked her other +guests whether she was not well justified in summoning them to meet him. +"I've been to see it three times."</p> + +<p>"I've been twice, and some one's taking me to it again to-morrow," +continued Mrs. O'Rane, for whom no subject of conversation was complete +until she had decorated it with a personal touch.</p> + +<p>"Even I've been once," murmured Barbara, rousing reluctantly from the +silence which she had maintained since the beginning of dinner: "George +Oakleigh insisted on taking me. It seems to be having a great success, +Mr. Lane."</p> + +<p>Eric smiled a little self-consciously; but her deliberate avoidance of +enthusiasm chilled him after Lady Poynter's extravagant appreciation.</p> + +<p>"No one here seems to have escaped it," he said.</p> + +<p>"I kept thinking how clever of you it was to write it," she went on, +half to herself.</p> + +<p>Such criticism led to nothing but a second self-conscious smile; and, +knowing her reputation, he had expected something more stimulating.</p> + +<p>"Was it a good house?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Very full, if that's what you mean." She looked past him and lowered +her voice. "It was full of Lady Poynters," she went on. "Rows and rows +of them. They took it conscientiously, they laughed at the jokes, they +missed nothing, even the obvious things; and, if I went next week, I +should find them all there again—or other people exactly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">{26}</a></span> like them. It +was a wonderful—" she hesitated and looked at him long enough to see +that he was perplexed, if not annoyed—"experience."</p> + +<p>"I hope you don't regret going?"</p> + +<p>"Very few plays are as amusing as the audience," she answered +thoughtfully. "Oh, I wouldn't have missed it for anything. I wondered +what you were like.…" She turned to look at him with leisurely and +unsmiling interest. "I expected to find you much younger. How old are +you? Twenty-six? <i>Thirty-two!</i> You're ten years older than I am! What in +the world have you been doing with yourself?"</p> + +<p>"That would take <i>rather</i> a long time to tell!" he laughed.</p> + +<p>"I don't expect it would. Life is not measured by days, but by +sensations.…"</p> + +<p>"Those you experience or those you create?" Eric interrupted.</p> + +<p>Barbara turned away and nodded to herself.</p> + +<p>"It's like that, is it?" she murmured. "Are you declaring war? If so, +you're clever enough to fight with your own weapons instead of picking +up the rusty swords of men I've already beaten. You knew little Val +Arden, of course? And my cousin Jim Loring? <i>They</i> taught you to call me +a 'sensationalist.' Labels are an indolent man's device for guessing +what's inside a bottle without tasting."</p> + +<p>"They sometimes prevent accidental poisoning."</p> + +<p>"If the right labels are on the right bottles. That's what I have to +find out. And it's worth an occasional risk.… Sensationalist! I +collect new emotions, but you must be <i>bourgeois</i> yourself if you want +to <i>épater le bourgeois</i>. Now, <i>you</i> can't have had many emotions, or +you wouldn't have written that play. And yet—what were you doing +before?" she demanded abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I followed the despised calling of a journalist."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">{27}</a></span></p> + +<p>She nodded and began eating her quail without explaining herself +further. Eric was nettled by her tone, for she was taking pains to let +him see that she had not liked his play, perhaps even that she despised +him for writing it. He half turned to Lady Poynter, but she was deep in +conversation with her nephew. For a time he, too, concentrated his +attention on the quail; but every one else was talking, and, though +Barbara's challenge was too pert to be taken seriously, he felt that +half-praise from her was more valuable than the adulation of women like +Mrs. Shelley who were content to worship success for its own sake.</p> + +<p>"What was the precise meaning of the 'Ah!'?" he enquired lazily.</p> + +<p>"'Meaning'; not 'precise meaning.' You surely don't want me to see that +you're rather losing your temper and trying to cover it up by being +dignified. You've been so careful with your effects, too! … I said +'Ah,' because you'd given me the clue I was looking for. You were a very +clever journalist, I should think."</p> + +<p>"Isn't that rash on half an hour's acquaintance?"</p> + +<p>"You're forgetting your play—for the first time since it was produced! +I felt that, however bad it was as a play, it was first-rate journalism. +I've told you that I kept thinking how clever of you it was to write it. +You mustn't think I didn't enjoy myself. The construction's quite +tolerable, and the dialogue's admirable—not a word too much, not a +syllable put in for 'cleverness,' no epigrams for epigrams' sake. And +you've got a good sense of the theatre."</p> + +<p>"I was a dramatic critic for some years. Hence my good press."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Well, I felt that night that, if you weren't too old and set, you +might live to write a really good play." He bowed slightly. "Have you a +cigarette? I hate people smoking in the middle of meals; but Margaret's +begun, and I must have something to drown it. Now <i>that</i>, I suppose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">{28}</a></span> +would be called an ironical bow, wouldn't it? I mean, in your stage +directions? You must guard against that kind of thing, you know."</p> + +<p>"I will endeavour to do so, Lady Barbara."</p> + +<p>"'Try,' not 'endeavour.' And you mustn't talk like your own characters; +you've no idea how debilitating that is. It's bad enough when you try to +drag us into the world of your plays, but it's intolerable if you try to +drag your plays into our world. Did you ever read a story about a boy +who lost all sense of reality by going to the theatre too much? He +became dramatic. He slapped his forehead and groaned—— Well, we +<i>don't</i> slap our foreheads or groan, however great the provocation. And +in moments of stress he would shake hands with people and turn away to +hide his emotion. And it wasn't only in gestures, he became dramatic in +conduct. When compromising letters came into his hands, he used to burn +them unread and without any one looking on, which is manifestly absurd. +I forget what happened to him in the end, but I expect he was charged +with something he hadn't done to save the husband of the woman he wanted +to marry—and whom he'd have made perfectly miserable, if she hadn't +taken him in hand very firmly at the outset. And he'd have insisted on +having all their quarrels in her bedroom."</p> + +<p>Barbara seemed to have talked away her listlessness. The champagne had +brought colour into her cheeks and eyes. Eric looked at her with new +interest, waiting for the next abrupt change.</p> + +<p>"I'm not finding you as thoroughly dull as you warned me to expect," he +observed, borrowing her candour of speech.</p> + +<p>"I should think not! I'm never dull when it's worth while taking any +trouble. I didn't think you <i>were</i> worth while, till you began talking. +Then I saw that in spite of the play——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't think I should be spared that," he murmured.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">{29}</a></span></p> + +<p>"And the poses——"</p> + +<p>"Poses?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear child, you've postured and advertised yourself till every +one's sick of you! A good press—I should think you had! You're never +out of it! An announcement that you've left London—and the intolerable +effrontery of telling us all about it! The only way you could escape +from your mob of adorers."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I used the word 'adorers'; and I've <i>got</i> to find time +somehow to rehearse my new play."</p> + +<p>His voice had grown a little stiff. Barbara smiled to herself and +discovered suddenly that the desire to hurt him was dead.</p> + +<p>"When's the new play coming out?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"In the middle of next month."</p> + +<p>"You can't make it later?"</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid you won't be able to attend the first night?" he +laughed.</p> + +<p>"God forbid! But I shan't have time to complete your education in a +month. Now, I'm talking seriously. Put that play off! You're only a +child, you've made a mint of money out of this present abomination. If +you'll wait till I've educated you——"</p> + +<p>Her pupils had dilated until the irises were swamped in black. The early +warm flush had shrunk and intensified into two vivid splashes of colour +over her cheek-bones. Neurotic, Eric decided; but arresting and +magnetic.</p> + +<p>"And what do you propose to teach me?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>As he spoke, he was conscious of a lull in the conversation. Without +looking round, he knew that every one was watching them and that both +their voices had risen a tone.</p> + +<p>"Life!" she cried. "You've never <i>met</i> men and women. I told George +Oakleigh so that night. That's why the public loves your play."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">{30}</a></span></p> + +<p>Eric turned to Lady Poynter.</p> + +<p>"I have a new play coming out next month," he explained, "and Lady +Barbara wants me to hang it up till she's taught me—did you say +'life'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! Margaret, darling, any young man may write <i>one</i> successful bad +play——"</p> + +<p>There was a gasp of orotund protest from Lady Poynter.</p> + +<p>"My <i>dear</i> Babs!"</p> + +<p>"Of course it's a bad play! What I don't know about bad plays isn't +worth knowing, I've seen so many of them! Have you <i>ever</i> met a woman, +Mr. Lane? Have you ever even <i>fancied</i> that you were in love?"</p> + +<p>Eric took a cigarette and lighted one for Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I thought I knew a lot about life when I was twenty-two," he said, +studiedly reflective. "I'd just come down from Oxford."</p> + +<p>Her attention seemed to have wandered to her cigarette, for she drew +hard at it and then asked for another match.</p> + +<p>"Which was your college?" she enquired with neurotic suddenness of +transition.</p> + +<p>"Trinity."</p> + +<p>"Did you know my brother? He must have been up about your time. He was +at the House."</p> + +<p>"I knew him by sight. Tall, fair-haired man; he was on the Bullingdon. I +never met him, though. I didn't know many men at the House."</p> + +<p>Barbara thought for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe I know any one who was at Trinity in your time. Did you +ever meet a man called Waring?"</p> + +<p>"Jack Waring of New College? I've known him all my life. They're +neighbours of ours in Hampshire. You know he's missing?"</p> + +<p>Barbara nodded quickly.</p> + +<p>"So I heard.… I suppose nothing definite's known?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">{31}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I haven't met any of the family since the news was published, but I +shall see his sister this week-end."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you can find out anything without too much bother——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's a great friend of mine," Eric explained. "It's no trouble."</p> + +<p>Barbara turned to him with a rapid backward cast to her earlier quest.</p> + +<p>"Are you in love with her? Oh, but why not?" she demanded querulously. +"It would do you so much good—as a man and as a writer. You'll never +get rid of your self-satisfaction till then; and you'll never write a +good play. It's such a pity, when you've everything except the +psychology. Why don't you fall in love with me? I could teach you such a +lot, and you'd never regret it." Barbara caught her hostess' eye and +picked up her gloves. "You'd write a tolerable play in the middle of it, +a work of genius at the end——"</p> + +<p>Eric's laugh interrupted her eager outpour.</p> + +<p>"I'm quite satisfied to be an observer of life."</p> + +<p>"Dear child, you're quite satisfied with <i>every</i>thing. You're sunk in +soulless contentment; you shirk emotion because it would force you to +see below the pink-and-white surface; that's why you write such bad +plays. Margaret!" She approached Lady Poynter with outstretched arms. +"I've argued myself hoarse trying to persuade Mr. Lane to fall in love +with me. Do see what you can do! He shews all the obstinacy of a young, +weak man; he won't <i>see</i> how much I should improve him. When he'd learnt +life at my hands——"</p> + +<p>Lady Poynter threw a crushing arm round the girl's waist.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Babs. You're looking better than you did," she said. "I <i>told</i> +you you'd fall in love with him," she added, as they walked upstairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">{32}</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's nothing much the matter with Babs," commented Gaymer meaningly, +as he shut the door and settled into a chair beside Lord Poynter.</p> + + +<h3>4</h3> + +<p>As Barbara's voice faded and died away, an air of guilty quiet settled +upon the dining-room. Eric tidied himself a place among her wreckage of +crumpled napkin, sloppy finger-bowl, nut-shells and cigarette-ash. For +ten minutes he could rest; conversation with either of his companions +threatened to be as difficult as it was unnecessary. John Gaymer, in +upbringing, intellect, habits of mind and method of speech, belonged to +a self-centred world which cheerfully defied subjugation by a brigade of +Byrons, reinforced by a division of Wesleys and an army of Rousseaus; +for him there was one school and no other, one college and no other, one +regiment, club, restaurant, music-hall, tailor, hairdresser and no +other. Eric was always meeting John Gaymers and never penetrating below +the sleek, well-bred and uninterested exterior; they were politely +repellent, as though an intrusion from outside would disturb their +serenity and the advantageous bargain which they had struck with life; +it might cause them to think, and thought was a synonym of death. The +Flying Corps, at first sight, was an unassimilating environment for a +John Gaymer, but this one had not gone in alone and he had certainly not +been assimilated. A closely knit and self-isolated group had formed +itself there, as it could be trusted to form itself in a house-party or +under the shadow of the guillotine, genially unapproachable and +uncaringly envied.</p> + +<p>To shew his fairness and breadth of mind Eric tested the specimen under +his hand with politics, the war and a current libel action, only to be +rewarded at the third venture. Before surrendering to his desire for +silence and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">{33}</a></span> rest, he glanced under lowered lids at his host's +blue-tinged, loosely-hanging cheeks. Conscientiously silent when his +wife wished to discuss literature with her new discoveries, Lord Poynter +became dutifully loquacious when exposed defenceless to the task of +entertaining them and took refuge in gusty, nervous geniality or odd, +sly confidences on matters of no moment.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you drinking any port wine?" he demanded of Eric after brooding +indecision.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, yes. It's a '63, isn't it?" Eric asked, as he helped himself +and passed the decanter.</p> + +<p>Lord Poynter's discoloured eyes shone with interest for the first time +that night.</p> + +<p>"Ah, come now! A kindred spirit!" he wheezed welcomingly. "I'll be +honest with you; I was in two minds whether to give you that wine +to-night. Women don't appreciate it, they're not educated up to it. It +was that or the Jubilee Sandeman, and I'm <i>not</i> an admirer of the +Jubilee wines. Very delicate, very <i>good</i>," he cooed, "but—well, you'll +understand me if I call them all <i>women's</i> wines. Now, if you <i>like</i> +port, I've a few bottles of '72 Gould Campbell.… Johnny, your +grandfather would have had a fit, if he'd seen you trying to drink port +wine with a cigarette in your mouth. Not that it makes much difference, +when people have been smoking all the way through dinner; your palate's +tainted before you come to your wine. People pretend that it makes a +difference whether you approach the tobacco through the wine or the wine +through the tobacco. I don't see it, myself.…"</p> + +<p>His tongue uncoiled, he soliloquized on wines of the past and present, +as the survivor of a dead generation might dwell dotingly on the great +men and beautiful women of a long life-time. Empire, devolving its cares +upon his shoulders, enabled him—as he explained with sly gusto—to +secure that there should be no inharmonious inruption of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">{34}</a></span> coffee and +liqueurs until the sacred wine had been in reverent circulation for +twenty minutes. Half-way through, warming to his new friend, he rang for +a bottle of wood port first known to history in 1823, when it was +already a middle-aged wine, and fortified from every subsequent vintage.</p> + +<p>"I don't say you'll like it, but it's an experience," he told Eric with +an air of cunning, respectable conspiracy. "Like a <i>ve-ery</i> dry sherry. +If I may advise you, I would say, 'Drink it as a liqueur'; don't waste +your time on my brandy, I'm afraid I've none fit to offer <i>you</i>. There +was a tragedy about my last bottle of the Waterloo.…"</p> + +<p>He diverged into a long and untidy story about a dinner-party in honour +of a late Austrian Ambassador which coincided with the collapse of his +wife's maid with pneumonia. Eric, listening with half his brain, +wondered whether any one would believe him if he transplanted the room, +the conversation and Lord Poynter into a play; with the other half he +thought of Lady Barbara's advice that he should fall in love, if not +with her, at least with somebody. His sister's telephone message had +started the train of thought; he was looking forward to the week-end and +the opportunity of meeting Agnes Waring. The time would come—if there +were many hosts like Lord Poynter and if they all talked "Hibernia" port +and Tuileries brandy, it would come very soon—when he would grow tired +of being pushed from one house to another and made to talk for the +diversion of sham intellectuals. In this, at least, he had had enough of +his triumphal progress; there was rest and companionship in being +married, it was the greatest of all adventures.… He wondered how +Agnes would acquit herself at a party like this; he would not like +people to cease inviting him because they felt bound to invite a +tiresome wife as well.…</p> + +<p>Gaymer, too, was growing impatient of his uncle's cellar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">{35}</a></span> Odyssey and +was calling aloud for a cigar, while he scoured the side-board for +Benedictine.</p> + +<p>"They'll be wondering where we've got to," said Lord Poynter guiltily, +recalling his mind from a distance and lapsing into silence. And Eric +felt compunction in helping to cut short the man's one half-hour of +happiness in the day.</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room they found the four women seated at a bridge-table, +disagreeing over the score. Lady Poynter archly reproached her husband +and Gaymer for "monopolizing poor Mr. Lane"; there was a shuffling of +feet, cutting, changing of chairs, and Mrs. Shelley crept to the door, +whispering that she had to start work early next day or she would not +dream of breaking up such a delightful party; she was promptly arrested +and brought back by Mrs. O'Rane with the offer of Lady Maitland's +brougham, which was to call for her at eleven. After an exhibition of +half-hearted self-effacement by all, a new four was made up, and Eric +found himself contentedly alone on a sofa with Lord Poynter mid-way +between him and the table, uncertain whether to watch the game or +venture on more conversation. He had whispered: "I can tell you a story +about that cigar you're smoking … ," when, at the end of the second +hand, Barbara looked slowly round, pushed back her chair and walked to +the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Thinking over your wasted opportunities?" she asked, as she sat down +beside Eric.</p> + +<p>"There are none," he answered lazily. "I've been a great success +to-night. I can see that our host won't rest content till I've promised +to dine here three times a week to drink his port; I've been good value +to Lady Poynter; if I play bridge, I shall lose a lot of money to +Gaymer—not that I don't play quite a fair game, but I'm sure, without +even seeing him, that he plays a diabolically good game and I know I +shall cut against him. Mrs. Shelley? Every one's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">{36}</a></span> always a success with +her; talking to her is as demoralizing as cracking jokes from the Bench. +Mrs. O'Rane wants me to write her a duologue—just as one draws a rabbit +for a child.… That only leaves you. And you capitulated more +completely even than Poynter, without the '63 port as an introduction +and bond."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked at him with a dawning smile.</p> + +<p>"I <i>think</i> you're the most insufferably conceited young man I've ever +met!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"I'm adjusting the balance. If you hadn't disparaged me the whole way +through dinner.… Now, when you got up here, you pumped Mrs. Shelley +with both hands for everything you could get her to tell you about me. +Didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>Eric smiled to himself.</p> + +<p>"She's the only one here who knows me, but she didn't tell you much."</p> + +<p>"I shan't say."</p> + +<p>Three impatient voices from the bridge-table met and struggled in an +unmelodious chorus of "<i>Babs!</i> Come—here!"</p> + +<p>She returned a moment later, but had hardly sat down before Gaymer +spread out the substantial remains of his hand with a challenge of "Any +one anything to say about the rest? Babs, don't keep us waiting +<i>again</i>!"</p> + +<p>As she stood up, Eric rose, too, and said good-bye.</p> + +<p>"I have some work to finish before I go to bed," he told her.</p> + +<p>"Won't you wait and see me home? Sonia O'Rane's got a brougham, and +we'll borrow it first."</p> + +<p>Eric laughed and shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if you wish it."</p> + +<p>"You're not very gracious," she pouted.</p> + +<p>"It was so transparent. You could go with Mrs. O'Rane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">{37}</a></span> Or Gaymer would +be delighted to find you a taxi. Or you could go on foot."</p> + +<p>She drew herself up to her full height.</p> + +<p>"Instead of which I humiliated myself by asking a small thing which was +just big enough to give you the opportunity of being rude."</p> + +<p>She turned away to the table, but stopped at the sound of laughter from +Eric. He had hesitated a moment before taking the risk, but laughter +seemed the only corrective for her theatrical dignity.</p> + +<p>"I spend hours each day watching people rehearsing this sort of thing," +he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Why do you <i>imagine</i> I ask you to see me home?" she demanded, with a +petulant stamp.</p> + +<p>"Partly because you're enjoying me; partly because you know I want to +work and you think it will be such fun to upset my arrangements even by +ten minutes."</p> + +<p>Barbara smiled at him over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"We're a game all," she pleaded, motioning him back to the sofa.</p> + +<p>Eric smiled and lit a cigarette from the stump of his cigar.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later they were driving along Piccadilly towards Berkeley +Square, Eric rather tired, Barbara excited and restlessly voluble.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Lane going to forget our second meeting as quickly and +completely as he forgot the first?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"The first?" Eric echoed. "This is the first time I've set eyes on +you—except in the distance at theatres and places."</p> + +<p>"It's the first time I've ever seen your face; but I recognized your +voice and, if you will come into the house for a moment, I can restore a +certain flask."</p> + +<p>Eric turned on her in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Was that <i>you</i>? Well … Good … Good Heavens!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">{38}</a></span></p> + +<p>Barbara laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Try not to forget me so quickly again! I've still to apologize for +being such a beast when we met to-night. I was ill … and +miserable——"</p> + +<p>"I had no idea!" Eric cried. "And I stared at you for an hour on +end—trying to count your pulse by a watch without a second-hand.… +But you've changed so! I used to catch sight of you before the war——"</p> + +<p>"I've travelled a lot since then," she interrupted. "The whole way +through Purgatory to Hell."</p> + +<p>Eric tried to remember whether the war had robbed her of any one but Jim +Loring.</p> + +<p>"<i>Since</i> that day you've changed so much again."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I'm taking a holiday from Hell. And, as you know, I'm not a +good traveller."</p> + +<p>He let down the window and threw away the end of his cigarette.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were going to die that day," he murmured half to himself. +"When I handed you over to your maid.… Lady Barbara, why don't you +take a little more care of yourself?"</p> + +<p>"D'you think I should be missed?"</p> + +<p>"I can well imagine—— Here! He's going wrong!"</p> + +<p>The carriage had overshot Berkeley Street; but, as Eric leaned towards +the open window, Barbara caught him suddenly by the wrist and shoulder +until she had turned him to face her.</p> + +<p>"Where d'you live?" she demanded peremptorily; and, when he had told +her, "Put your head out and tell him to go there."</p> + +<p>"But we're almost in Berkeley Square now."</p> + +<p>"Do as I tell you! I'm coming to pay you a call."</p> + +<p>He disengaged her hands and lay back in his corner.</p> + +<p>"It's a little late for you to be calling on me," he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">{39}</a></span></p> + +<p>With a quick tug and push she had opened the window on her own side +before he could stop her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, will you drive to 89 Ryder Street first, please," he heard her say. +Then she sank back with a pursed-up smile of triumph. "I've <i>no</i> +intention of going to bed yet," she explained.</p> + +<p>"I've no intention of opening the door till I've taken you home," he +rejoined.</p> + +<p>She made no answer till the carriage drew up opposite his flat.</p> + +<p>"It would be deplorable if you made a scene on the pavement," she +observed carelessly.</p> + +<p>Then she stepped out and told the driver to go back to Belgrave Square +for Mrs. O'Rane.</p> + +<p>It was a moon-lit night between half-past eleven and twelve. Ryder +Street had roused to life with a widely-spaced but steady stream of men +returning to bed from Pall Mall and sparing the fag-end of their +attention for the unexpected tall girl who stood wrapped in a long silk +shawl in the shadow of a bachelor door-way. The brougham turned round +and drove away. Eric lighted another cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Am I right in thinking that you're being obstinate?" Barbara enquired +after some moments of silence.</p> + +<p>"If you want me to take you home, I'll take you home. Otherwise I shall +leave you here, go round to the club, explain that I've lost my +latch-key and get a bed there."</p> + +<p>"You're almost oriental in your hospitality," she laughed.</p> + +<p>"I've no hospitality to spare for a girl of twenty-two at this hour of +the night."</p> + +<p>She stretched out her arm to him. In observing the beauty of her +slender, long fingers and the whiteness of her arm against the long +fringe of the shawl, Eric forgot his guard. She twitched the cigarette +from his lips and laughed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">{40}</a></span> like a child, as she blew out a cloud of +smoke. Cigarette, shawl and manner suddenly reminded him of Carmen.</p> + +<p>"You're so conventional," she sighed.</p> + +<p>Eric became suddenly irritable.</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara, you're behaving idiotically!" he cried. "I know you'd do +anything for a new sensation, but I'm not going to help. Possibly I'm +old-fashioned. If you think——"</p> + +<p>"I'm so thirsty," she interrupted. "Have you any soda-water?"</p> + +<p>"You're sure to find plenty in Berkeley Square."</p> + +<p>"But you're <i>afraid</i> to give me any, afraid of being compromised?"</p> + +<p>"I've too many things to be afraid of without bothering about that. Lady +Barbara, you've several brothers, I've one sister. If one of your +brothers saw fit to invite <i>my</i> sister to a bachelor flat——"</p> + +<p>"But you <i>haven't</i> invited me!"</p> + +<p>"I should horsewhip him," Eric resumed jerkily.</p> + +<p>She considered him curiously with her head on one side.</p> + +<p>"You know, I don't feel afraid of you," she told him. "I could trust you +anywhere. You're not old enough to understand that yet, but you will."</p> + +<p>"Then for the present it's irrelevant. Come along, Lady Barbara."</p> + +<p>He advanced a step, but she only smiled at him without moving. Eric +looked angrily round, but the stream of passers-by, though sluggish, +shewed no signs of drying up. A clock inside the hall began to chime +midnight, and he turned on his heel. As he did so, a taxi turned into +the street, and an officer climbed gingerly out and hoisted himself +across the pavement on two crutches. Barbara coughed and drew her shawl +round her until half her face was hidden.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">{41}</a></span></p> + +<p>"But, Eric dear, you can't have <i>lost</i> the key," she expostulated, +purposefully clear.</p> + +<p>Over the shawl her eyes were gleaming with mischief and triumph.</p> + +<p>The officer looked quickly from one to the other.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! You locked out?" he enquired sympathetically. "Rotten luck! +Here, let me put you out of your misery! Hope you haven't been waiting +long?"</p> + +<p>"That <i>is</i> sweet of you," said Barbara. "Long? I seem to have been +standing here all day. Come on, Eric; I'm frightfully tired; I want to +sit down."</p> + +<p>She walked into the hall, beckoning him with a jerk of her head. The +officer bade them good-night and limped to a ground-floor flat at the +end.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to my club, Lady Barbara," said Eric with slow distinctness +from the door-step.</p> + +<p>"Then I shall bang on every door I see until I find your flat," she +retorted promptly. "I've told you, I want some soda-water. And, +Eric——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Lady Barbara."</p> + +<p>"Eric, I always get what I want. Who lives here, do you suppose? We'll +try his door first."</p> + +<p>Eric came in and walked to the foot of the stairs. Barbara slipped her +arm through his, but he shook it away.</p> + +<p>"I'm tired," she explained. "I wish you wouldn't be so rough with me."</p> + +<p>She replaced her arm, and, rather than engage in a childish brawl, Eric +left it there, though the touch of her fingers on his wrist set his +blood tingling. They walked slowly, for he was trying to set his racing +thoughts in order. This, then, was the true Lady Barbara Neave. He had +never believed the fantastic stories about her, but she was now +gratuitously shewing him that she was of those who stopped at nothing.</p> + +<p>He felt the sudden unpitying disgust of a disappointed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">{42}</a></span> idealist. She +was very young, with expressions which made her wholly beautiful at +times.… "Virginal" was the word he was trying to find.… He +wondered how to rid himself of her without a scene.</p> + +<p>"If you'll let go my arm, I'll open the door," he said with stiff +patience.</p> + +<p>She walked into the small inner hall and looked round her with +unaffected interest.</p> + +<p>"I've never been in a man's rooms before," she remarked and Eric knew +that she was speaking the truth. An extraordinary sense of power came to +him, rushing to his head. The tired eyes and wistful mouth, the haggard +cheeks, the cloud of fine hair, the white arms and slender hands fed his +hungry love of beauty. And he had attracted her until she lay at his +mercy.…</p> + +<p>"I want to see everything, Eric," she said gently.</p> + +<p>He hardly heard the words; but her tone was confiding, and she slipped +her hand into his. A latent sense of the dramatic came to his rescue.</p> + +<p>"You seem to have put yourself pretty completely into my power," he +observed, closing the front door behind them.</p> + +<p>"I know you so much better than you know me," she answered.</p> + +<p>"I don't quite follow."</p> + +<p>She laughed gently to herself, then put her arms round his neck and +kissed him.</p> + +<p>"No.… And you won't for years … not till I've educated you.… +Am I right in thinking that you've forgotten all about my soda-water?"</p> + + +<h3>5</h3> + +<p>Eric led her into the dining-room and gave her a tumbler of soda-water +with a hand that trembled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">{43}</a></span></p> + +<p>She had taken him by surprise as much as if she had struck him in the +face. Incuriosity and fastidiousness, partly timid, partly romantic, had +conspired to let him reach the age of two-and-thirty without ever +kissing or being kissed. The act, now that he had experienced it, was +nothing. A warm body, yielding in self-surrender, had pressed against +him for a moment; two hands had impelled his head forward; he had been +blinded for an instant by a scented billow of hair; then his cheeks had +been touched as though a leaf had blown against them. That was the +temperate analysis of kissing.…</p> + +<p>"It's a nice room, Eric," she murmured, glancing slowly round over the +top of her tumbler at the panelled walls and shining oak table. "And I +like your invisible lighting. It's restful, and I hate a glare. What +other rooms have you?"</p> + +<p>"Kitchen next door," he answered with intentional abruptness; "then the +servants' room—you won't make a noise, will you? or you'll wake them +up. Bathroom, spare room, my own room, smoking-room. No, the limits of +my unconventionality are soon reached; you can finish your soda-water in +the smoking-room, and then I'll take you home."</p> + +<p>"But I should <i>like</i> to see your room," she answered with the grave +persistence of an unreasonable child. "Mine's purple and white in +London—purple carpet, purple curtains, purple counterpane—and nothing +but white—except the rose-wood, of course—at Crawleigh."</p> + +<p>"This is the smoking-room," said Eric, conscientiously firm and +unimpressed.</p> + +<p>Barbara gave a little gasp of pleasure as he flooded the room with +light. Book-cases surrounded three walls, stretching half-way to the +ceiling and topped with rose-bowls and bronzes. The fourth was warmed by +long <i>rose Du Barry</i> curtains over the two windows; between them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">{44}</a></span> stood +a Chippendale writing-table. The rest of the room was given up to an +irregular circle of sofas and arm-chairs, white-covered and laden with +<i>rose Du Barry</i> satin cushions, surrounding a second table.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> glad I came!" she cried. "You know how to make yourself +comfortable, Eric! Of course, the first cigarette I drop on your +adorable grey carpet—you see how it matches my dress?—the first +cigarette spoils it for ever. <i>And</i> the roses!" With a +characteristically impulsive jerk she dragged the tulle band and +artificial flower from her hair, tossed them to Eric and stretched her +hand up for a red rose to take their place. "Ah! beloved celibate! not a +mirror in the room! I shall <i>have</i> to——"</p> + +<p>"Please stay where you are, Lady Barbara."</p> + +<p>She crammed the rose carelessly into her hair and dropped on the nearest +sofa.</p> + +<p>"<i>Do</i> take that coat off and sit down here!" she begged him.</p> + +<p>"I'm waiting to take you home."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not going home yet. I'm enjoying myself, I'm happy."</p> + +<p>"I'm waiting to take you home," he repeated.</p> + +<p>She pouted and glanced up at him through half-closed eyes.</p> + +<p>"You don't care whether I'm happy or not. You're <i>soullessly</i> selfish!" +She looked round and helped herself to a cigarette; then her hand crept +invitingly, with the shy daring of a mouse, along the sofa. "I want a +match."</p> + +<p>Eric took the cigarette and replaced it in its box.</p> + +<p>"Bed-time," he said. "This meeting was not of my contriving, Lady +Barbara, and, when you've learned the meaning of words, you'll find that +it won't affect your <i>happiness</i>——"</p> + +<p>His flow was arrested by a startling gasp.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">{45}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, it's no good!" Barbara cried. "You're hopeless, hopeless."</p> + +<p>To his amazement she had sprung to her feet, angry and disfigured, +forgetting to break through his guard, tossing her weapon away; no +longer teasing, imperious or purposely reckless; and without one of her +disarming lapses into simplicity. It was the mingled pain and anger of a +flesh-wound clumsily reopened. The next moment she had collapsed on the +sofa, stiffly upright, staring at him with hot eyes. Then the set cheeks +and compressed lips relaxed like the scattering petals of a blown rose; +her mouth drooped, her eyes half-closed, and she began to cry.</p> + +<p>Eric looked in consternation at her puckered, pathetic face, suddenly +colourless save for dark rings round the big, hollow eyes. Then he sat +down and drew her to him, patting her hand and talking to her half as if +she were a child, half as though she were capable of understanding his +weighty diagnosis.</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara! Lady Barbara! Are you listening to me? You mustn't +cry—<i>really</i>.… It takes away <i>all</i> your prettiness. Now, you were +fairly hard on me at dinner, weren't you? But I do possess <i>some</i> +intelligence; I didn't need to have Lady Poynter shouting from the +house-top that you were ill. You're worn out, you ought to be in bed and +you ought to stay there, instead of exciting yourself. Lady Barbara, +<i>please</i> stop crying! I don't know what I said, but I'm very humbly +sorry. Won't you stop?"</p> + +<p>She stiffened herself with a jerk and smiled as abruptly.</p> + +<p>"It was my fault. I've not been well and I've been very miserable. Give +me a little kiss, Eric, to shew you're not angry with me."</p> + +<p>She leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">{46}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why should I be angry with you?" he asked with a defensive laugh.</p> + +<p>Her hands dropped into her lap.</p> + +<p>"You won't kiss me?"</p> + +<p>"What difference would it make?"</p> + +<p>"I ask you to. What difference would it make to you?"</p> + +<p>Eric fumbled industriously with a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"It so happens that I've never kissed any one," he said, "except my +mother and sister, of course." Then, as she sat hungrily reproachful, he +repeated: "What <i>difference</i> would it make?"</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't understand …" she sighed. "And yet I thought you +would. Where did you get that tray from, Eric? You've never been to +India, have you?"</p> + +<p>"It was given me by an uncle of mine. Lady Barbara—If it will give you +any satisfaction.…"</p> + +<p>He kissed her forehead with shame-faced timidity and became discursively +explanatory.</p> + +<p>"The candle-sticks were looted during the Commune," he began hurriedly. +"I was given them as a house-warming present. The clock …"</p> + +<p>Barbara was wandering listlessly round the room and paying little +attention to what he was saying. She explored the book-cases, ransacked +the writing-table and looked curiously at the horse-shoe paper-weight.</p> + +<p>"You can give this to me, Eric," she suggested over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it was a present. Given me on my first night."</p> + +<p>"It would still be a present, if you gave it to me. I had one, but I +broke it. All my luck's left me since then. Are you superstitious?"</p> + +<p>"Not—in—the—<i>least</i>! I keep this for associations and a toy. If I +<i>could</i> bring out a play on Friday the thirteenth——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">{47}</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you're not superstitious, there's no excuse for not giving it to +me."</p> + +<p>She tossed the horse-shoe into the air and caught it neatly with her +right hand.</p> + +<p>"I'll see if I can get you another one," he promised, "but I don't know +whether they're made in England."</p> + +<p>"It might make all the difference to me," she pleaded, catching the +horse-shoe with her left hand. "It's only a toy to you—a child's toy."</p> + +<p>Eric shook his head at her. Barbara pouted and threw the horse-shoe a +third time into the air, bending forward to catch it behind her back as +it dropped. Eric, watching apprehensively, saw a flash of apprehension +reflected for an instant in her eyes; then there was a tinkle of broken +glass.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my <i>dear</i>! I wouldn't have done that for the world!" she cried, +pressing her hands against her cheeks. "I've destroyed your luck now! +What a fool I was! Abject fool!"</p> + +<p>"What <i>does</i> it matter?" Eric laughed.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have done that for the world," she repeated with a white +face.</p> + +<p>"And you're living in the year of grace nineteen-fifteen? It's +only—What did we call it? A child's toy. And, between ourselves, it +wasn't a very efficient paper-weight. I can assure you I shan't miss +it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you will some day. And then you'll lift up your hands and curse +the hour when you first met me."</p> + +<p>Eric looked complacently at the airy room, the crowded book-cases, the +soft chairs, the bellying curtains and the neat pile of manuscript on +his writing-table:</p> + +<p>"Aren't you perhaps exaggerating your potential influence on my life?" +he suggested.</p> + +<p>Barbara went back to her sofa and helped herself to a cigarette without +hurry or fear that this time it would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">{48}</a></span> taken from her; she smiled for +a match—and smiled again when it was given her.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you perhaps boasting too soon, my self-satisfied young friend? +Your education's only just beginning."</p> + +<p>Eric lighted a cigarette and sat down beside her. He no longer insisted +that, for health or propriety, she must go home at once; and in some +forgotten moment he had involuntarily taken off his overcoat.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what you think you can teach me," he mused. "I wonder what you +know, to start with."</p> + +<p>"I know life."</p> + +<p>"A considerable subject."</p> + +<p>"I've had considerable experience."</p> + +<p>The clock on the mantel-piece chimed one. Neither seemed to notice it, +for Barbara was becoming autobiographical. Her story was ill-arranged +and discursive, with personal characteristics of Lord Crawleigh +sandwiched between her life at Government House, Ottawa, and a thwarted +romance between her brother and a designing American. She flitted from +her four years in India to Viceregal Lodge, Dublin, with a procession of +damaging encounters with her father as stepping-stones in the narrative. +(From her account it was Lord Crawleigh who sustained most of the +damage.) He could never shake off a certain pro-consular manner in +private life and had reduced his sons to blundering and untrustworthy +<i>aides-de-camp</i> and his wife to a dignified but trembling squaw. Barbara +alone resisted him.</p> + +<p>"What can he do?" she asked. "He whipped me till I was ten, but I'm too +big for that now. He can't very well lock me in my room, because the +servants would leave in a body. They adore me. If he'd tried to stop my +allowance, I should have gone on the stage—we've settled <i>that</i> point +once and for all with Harry Manders, half-way through the stage-door of +the Hilarity. Now I've got my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">{49}</a></span> own money. Mind you, I <i>adore</i> father, +and he adores me; most people adore me; but I must do what I like. <i>You</i> +see that now; but I had to shew you, I had to break my way in here by +main force."</p> + +<p>Eric looked up in time to catch a glint in her eyes. It was unexpected +and disconcerting. He had been imagining that she was merely +over-indulged; but the glint warned him that Barbara would make a bad +enemy, cruel perhaps and unscrupulous certainly. The next moment she was +again like a child, grown haggard with fatigue; and he gave her a slice +of cake and some milk, which she accepted obediently and with a certain +surprised gratitude.</p> + +<p>"Where d'you imagine all this is going to end?" he asked her, though the +question was addressed more to himself. "You're twenty-two, you've been +everywhere, seen everything, met everybody. You're utterly uncontrolled +and so sated and restless that, rather than go to bed, you'll compromise +yourself by sitting talking to me half the night in a bachelor flat."</p> + +<p>"Poor Val Arden used to talk like that. He always called me Lady Lilith, +because I was older than good and evil. I'm sorry Val's dead; he was +such fun. 'In six years' time—one asks oneself the question.…' It +wasn't 'rather than go to bed,' not altogether."</p> + +<p>"It's a nervous disease," Eric interrupted shortly.</p> + +<p>"Because I cried just now? I was very unhappy, Eric."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lady Barbara, you live in superlatives. You don't know what +happiness or unhappiness means. You were badly overwrought then, so you +cried and said you were miserable."</p> + +<p>She looked at him and raised her eyebrows without speaking.</p> + +<p>"It's wonderful how wrong quite clever people can be," she said at +length. "I <i>was</i> miserable, I <i>wanted</i> to be kissed, I was <i>hungry</i> for +the smallest crumb of affection.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">{50}</a></span> I wanted to be <i>happy</i>.… And you +can only see me as neurotic. D'you feel you're a good judge?"</p> + +<p>"Of happiness?"</p> + +<p>Eric smiled complacently and again glanced lovingly round the room. +Barbara sighed in pity and looked at her watch.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> seem to have come in the way rather," she interrupted.</p> + +<p>"The butterfly that settles on the railway track may be said, I suppose, +to come in the way of a train.… I'm going to take you home now."</p> + +<p>"You're not sorry I came? <i>I'm</i> not."</p> + +<p>"It was worth while meeting you," he laughed.</p> + +<p>As Eric struggled with the sleeves of his coat, she twined her arms +round his neck. The scent of carnations was now faintly blended with the +deeper fragrance of the single rose behind her ear.</p> + +<p>"And you'd never kissed any one before," she whispered.</p> + +<p>It was nearly day-light when they found themselves in the street. Two +special constables, striding resonantly home, looked curiously at them; +but Barbara had again pulled up her shawl until it covered half her +face. Piccadilly was at the mercy of scavengers with glistening black +waders and pitiless hoses; otherwise they seemed to have all London to +themselves.</p> + +<p>With a head aching from fatigue, Eric tried to reconstruct the fantastic +evening. Little detached pictures jostled their unconvincing way through +his brain—Lady Poynter's formal dining-room and the barren, +self-conscious literary discussion; Lord Poynter's wheezing confidences +about the wood port which should properly be taken as a liqueur. He saw +again the bridge-table with Gaymer, neat, immaculate and repellent, +calling in a high nasal voice for Barbara to rejoin them. The drive home +was a blank until he was galvanized by her leaning through the window +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">{51}</a></span> directing the coachman to Ryder Street. Thereafter facts gave place +to emotions, and the other emotions to an incredulous elation that +Barbara Neave should have thrown herself at his feet. Perhaps, of +course, she was only emotion-hunting.… But she had lain at his +mercy.… Perhaps that, too, was an emotion to be wooed, enjoyed and +recorded. Any one less artificial could at least be glad that they were +passing out of each other's life, as they had come into it, without +expectation or regret.</p> + +<p>"You'd better not come any farther," she advised him, as they reached +the end of Berkeley Street. "If anybody <i>should</i> be awake and looking +out of the window …"</p> + +<p>He nodded and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"You have your latch-key?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, thanks. Good-night, Eric."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Lady Barbara."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>Between men on the Stock Exchange it is a platitude that you can only +get a price in selling what some one else wants to buy; between men and +women outside the Stock Exchange this is often considered a paradox.</i>"—From the diary of Eric Lane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">{52}</a></span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_TWO" id="CHAPTER_TWO"></a>CHAPTER TWO<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">LADY BARBARA NEAVE</span></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Constantine</span>: From seventeen to thirty-four … the years which a +man should consecrate to the acquiring of political virtue … +wherever he turns he is distracted, provoked, tantalised by the +bare-faced presence of woman. How's he to keep a clear brain for +the larger issues of life? … Women haven't morals or intellect +in our sense of the words. They have other incompatible qualities +quite as important, no doubt. But shut them away from public life +and public exhibition. It's degrading to compete with them … +it's as degrading to compete for them.…"</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Granville Barker: "The Madras House.</span>" +</p></div> + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>The latest, costliest and most ingenious mechanical device in Eric's +bedroom was an electric dial and switchboard communicating with the +kitchen and so constructed that, by moving a clock-hand, the +corresponding dial abandoned the non-committal elusiveness of "<i>Please +call me at</i>——" for "<i>Please call me at 8.00 (or 9.00 or 9.30).</i>" There +was something calculatedly dissolute about the invention (which cost +£17.10 and had struck work four times in three weeks). After a long +night of work or frolic, the sybarite moved the hand on for twelve +hours—his last conscious act before collapsing into bed; if, again, he +had retired early or were so much debauched that he could not sleep, he +wearily set the hand for "<i>Please call me now.</i>"</p> + +<p>Eric looked with smarting eyes first at the luminous clock, then at the +dial. Half-past five, coupled with "<i>Please call me at eight.</i>" He +undressed ruminatively, reheated his hot-water can at the gas-ring, +methodically folded his clothes, smoothed his trousers away in their +press, selected a suit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">{53}</a></span> for the following day, washed face and hands, +brushed teeth and hoisted himself into bed. The dial must stand as he +had left it. Lady Barbara Neave had come—and gone; she was not going to +disturb his work.</p> + +<p>His sleep seemed to be interrupted almost instantly by the arrival of a +maid with tea, rusks, letters and <i>The Times</i>. His head was hot, but he +was singularly untired; that would come later.</p> + +<p>His letters varied little from day to day; two appeals for free sittings +with Bond Street photographers; four receipts; one bill; a dignified +protest from a country clergyman who had been shocked by the line: "Oh, +you're not sending me down with <i>that</i> woman, Rhoda? She's God's first +and most <i>perfect</i> bore." There was an ill-written request for leave to +translate his play into French, three news-cuttings to herald his new +play, a conventional letter from his mother, two petitions for free +stalls from impecunious friends and nine invitations to luncheon or +dinner. He had hardly finished reading them, when a pencilled note, sent +by hand from Mrs. Shelley, made the tenth.</p> + +<p>Eric piled his correspondence under the butter-dish to await his +secretary's arrival and turned methodically to <i>The Times</i>. Half-an-hour +later he rang for his housekeeper and subjected her book to scrutiny. A +leather-bound journal with a snap-lock lay on his table, and he next +wrote his diary for the previous day. "<i>So to dinner—rather late—with +Lady Poynter to meet her nephew, Capt. Gaymer (R. F. C). Mrs. O'Rane (as +beautiful as ever, but too voluble for my taste), Mrs. Shelley and Lady +Barbara Neave. Meredithian debate on wine with Lord P., which I would +give anything to put into a play. Bridge; but I cut out.</i>" He hesitated +and drummed with his fingers on the thick creamy pages. "<i>Took Lady B. +home rather late and circuitously.</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">{54}</a></span></p> + +<p>Then his secretary knocked and settled herself on the edge of an +arm-chair.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning," Eric began. "Will you write first of all to the manager +of the bank——"</p> + +<p>The telephone rang with a dull drone at the foot of his bed, and the +girl made tentative movements of discreet departure.</p> + +<p>"No, you deal with this!" Eric cried. "Out of London. You're not sure +when I shall be back. Can you take a message?"</p> + +<p>The girl picked up the instrument, while Eric glanced again through his +letters.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! Yes. Yes. He's—away, I'm afraid.… But, you see, he's +<i>away</i>.…" She looked despairingly at Eric. "He's <i>awa-ay</i>!" Then +breathlessly she clapped the receiver back.</p> + +<p>"It was Lady Barbara Somebody; I couldn't hear the surname. She said you +weren't away and she <i>must</i> speak to you. I thought it was best——"</p> + +<p>Eric had to collect himself before answering. In the sane cold light of +early morning the overnight escapade was a draggled, unromantic bit of +folly. If he met Barbara again, he would make things as easy as +possible: there would be no allusions, no sly smiles; the whole thing +was to be forgotten. And yet she was already digging it from under the +lightly sprinkled earth. If she were throwing herself on his mercy, it +was unnecessary; he had said "Good-<i>bye</i> …" very distinctly. And she +must surely know that she need not beg him not to talk.…</p> + +<p>"You were quite right," he told his secretary. "Where were we? Oh, the +manager——"</p> + +<p>The bell rang again. Eric frowned and picked up the receiver, while the +girl, after a moment's hesitation, tip-toed out of the room. Barbara had +already disturbed his time-table for thirty seconds.…</p> + +<p>"Hullo? Mr. Lane is away at present," he said. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">{55}</a></span> was a pause. "I +told you yesterday, Lady Barbara. Just as when you say 'Not at home.'… +I'm exceedingly busy and I <i>must</i> have a few days to myself. +Good-bye."</p> + +<p>The constant factor in her overnight autobiography was that every one +had always done what Barbara wanted; but, if she fancied that she was +going to break into a working-day with any of her nonsense, she would be +disappointed.</p> + +<p>At the other end of the line a gentle, rather tired voice said:</p> + +<p>"Don't cut me off. If you <i>know</i> the trouble I've had to get hold of +you! Eric, why aren't you in the book? Another device for escaping your +adorers? I've been pursuing you round London for a good half-hour; then +your people at the theatre——"</p> + +<p>"Is it anything <i>important</i>?" he interrupted curtly.</p> + +<p>"It's very important that you should listen <i>most</i> politely and +carefully and patiently and attentively when I'm talking to you. So far +you haven't asked how I am, you haven't told me how you are——"</p> + +<p>"I've <i>suggested</i> that I'm very busy," he interrupted her again.</p> + +<p>"But I don't allow that sort of thing to stand in the way."</p> + +<p>"And <i>I</i> don't allow any one to break into my time. Good-bye——"</p> + +<p>"Eric, don't you dare ring me off! I want to know whether you'll lunch +here to-day. I've collected rather an amusing party."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't."</p> + +<p>"Where <i>are</i> you lunching? At home? Then you can certainly come.… I +don't care <i>who's</i> lunching with you.… If you don't—Well, you'll +see. In the meantime, has Marion Shelley invited you to dine to-night +and are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, to the first; no, to the second," Eric answered. "Lady +Barbara——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">{56}</a></span></p> + +<p>"It must be 'yes' to the second, too, dear Eric. I rang her up at +cock-crow to say that you wanted her to invite us together. You do, you +know; you want to see whether last night's impression was true; that's +why I asked you to lunch.… Now I want to know if you've a rehearsal +to-day, because, if so——"</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara, I am going to cut you off," said Eric distinctly.</p> + +<p>He hung up the receiver and was about to ring for his secretary, when +his memory was arrested by the picture of Barbara springing to her feet, +reviling him, collapsing on the sofa and bursting into tears. "Bully +her, and she cries," he murmured impatiently. "Don't bully her, and she +bullies you. I'm not cut out for the part of tame cat. Another +forty-eight hours, and she'll expect me to drive round London and look +at dresses with her.…" But if his petulance had made her cry again +… Eric hunted for a pen and, without involving himself in delicacies +of address, wrote—"<i>I am not discourteous by preference, but you drive +me to it. La comedia è finita.</i>" He left the note unsigned and asked his +secretary to have it sent by hand to Berkeley Square. When it had left +him past recall, he felt that he could have done better; and he knew +that he would have done best of all by not writing.… But he was +irritated by her too insistent unconventionality; irritated and yet +rawly elated by his ascendancy over her.</p> + +<p>His secretary returned, and he dictated to her until half-past nine +struck. It was his signal to get up so that he could be dressed by ten, +so that he could work from ten till one, so that he could walk out and +lunch at one-thirty, observing his time-table punctually.</p> + +<p>The telephone rang again, and Mrs. Shelley enquired tonelessly whether +he had received her invitation.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eric! I <i>did</i> hope you could come!" she exclaimed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">{57}</a></span> "Can't you +reconsider? Poor Babs seems so anxious to see you again."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Shelley, then, had the wit to guess where the initiative lay.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that the privilege of gratifying Lady Barbara's whims——"</p> + +<p>He forgot how he had meant to finish the sentence, and there was a +pause.</p> + +<p>"Don't you like her, Eric?" asked Mrs. Shelley. "Most people fall a +victim the first time they meet her."</p> + +<p>"I've outgrown the susceptible age," he laughed. "And, anyway, I'm +working. It's awfully kind of you to invite me, Mrs. Shelley——"</p> + +<p>"Eric, I wish you'd reconsider," she interrupted before he could repeat +his refusal. "I feel you'll be doing her a kindness by coming; you +amused her and turned her thoughts.… I was dreadfully distressed +last night; she looked as if she were going into a decline.…"</p> + +<p>In contrast to Mrs. Shelley's toneless voice Eric heard again Barbara's +abrupt, startling cry, "You're hopeless, hopeless!"—just before she +collapsed limply on the sofa and cried about something which she would +not explain.…</p> + +<p>"You make it impossible for me to refuse," he said with an uneasy laugh.</p> + +<p>"I'm so grateful! I <i>knew</i> you'd come, Eric."</p> + +<p>He threw back the bed-clothes and rang for his bath.</p> + +<p>"I suppose Lady Barbara will think <i>she</i> knew I was coming, too," he +said to himself. "I don't mind being made a fool of <i>once</i>.…"</p> + +<p>At noon he tidied his papers and lighted a cigarette while he waited for +a call from his agent. The "Divorce" was being produced in America; and +for an arid, perplexing half-hour Mr. Grierson, with eyes half-closed in +the grey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">{58}</a></span> smoke of his cigar, pushed cables, letters, copies and a draft +agreement across the table.</p> + +<p>"Stay and have some lunch," Eric suggested, as half-past twelve struck. +"Manders is due any time now. He wants me to make certain alterations in +the 'Bomb-Shell,' and you can keep me in countenance. I'm getting rather +tired of being told: 'Of course, with great respect, Lane, you're a +new-comer to the theatre.…' New-comer I may be, but it doesn't lie +in Manders' mouth to say so, if he'll trouble to calculate how many +thousands I've put in his pocket.… Isn't this the sort of time when +one has a cocktail?"</p> + +<p>Grierson's eyes lighted up at the suggestion, and Eric rang for ice. He +was in the middle of his preparations when Harry Manders entered in a +suit of light tweeds, clutching a flat-brimmed bowler hat in one hand +and a leather-topped cane in the other.</p> + +<p>"'Mornin', Eric. Hullo, Phil! Sinister combination for a poor devil of +an actor-manager—author <i>and</i> agent. What's this you're givin' me? +Well, only up to the top—On my honour, boy, only up to the top!" He +nodded over the brimming glass with a knowing "Well, chin-chin!" and +subsided diagonally into a chair with his legs across one arm.</p> + +<p>"I thought Grierson's age and experience might save my play from further +amateur surgery," Eric explained.</p> + +<p>"Tootaloo," chirped Manders resiliently and dragged a crumpled script +from his pocket. Eric's obstinate assurance would have exasperated any +other manager, but, as Manders wearily said, "I've been too long at the +game to lose my temper."</p> + +<p>With that they settled to work and argued their way through the marked +passages of Manders' copy heatedly and without reaching conviction or +agreement. Once Grierson rose and shook a second cocktail; twice a maid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">{59}</a></span> +announced that luncheon was on the table. Something, which he attributed +to his broken night, made Eric unreasonable to a point where he knew +that he was being unreasonable. He was too tired for anything except +sustained obstinacy, and his companions grated on him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let's have something to eat!" he exclaimed at length. "The second +act's got to stand as I wrote it. We shan't do any good by talking.…"</p> + +<p>"Now don't you be in a hurry, boy," began Manders. "<i>Turn</i> back to the +beginning.…"</p> + +<p>Eric looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Don't forget we've a rehearsal," he said. "I don't know what there is +for lunch, but it will be tepid."</p> + +<p>"Then let's wait for it to get cold. Now, in the first act you +said—Damn!"</p> + +<p>He flapped the script impatiently on his knee as the now familiar knock +of Eric's parlour-maid was heard yet again.</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara Neave to see you, sir," she whispered a little +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Will you please say that I can't possibly see any one?" Eric answered +curtly. "Tell her that two gentlemen have come to see me on business. +Ask her to leave a message."</p> + +<p>He turned to find Manders smiling, as though to say, "Why didn't you +tell us? <i>We</i> should have understood. We're men of the world."</p> + +<p>"The <i>first</i> act," Eric repeated earnestly. "<i>As</i> you will, but do go +ahead with it. I want some lunch."</p> + +<p>For five seconds the three men turned the limp, dog's-eared pages until +they had found the place. Manders cleared his throat unreservedly and +then looked up with an expression of ebbing patience, as the door opened +again. This time there was no knock, and Lady Barbara walked in after +hesitating for a moment on the threshold to identify Eric. She was +wearing a black dress with a transparent film of grey hanging from the +shoulders, a black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">{60}</a></span> hat shaped like a butterfly's wings with her hair +visible through the spider's web crown. One hand swung a sable stole, +the other carried to and from her mouth a half-eaten apple.</p> + +<p>"Eric, <i>please</i> invite me to lunch with you!" she begged. "You've such +delicious food. I was shewn into your dining-room and I could hardly +resist it. There's a dressed crab—I behaved <i>perfectly</i>, I didn't touch +it—and, if all three of you had the weeniest little bit less, there'd +be enough for us all. Hullo, there's Mr. Manders!"</p> + +<p>She shook hands and waited for Eric to introduce Grierson.</p> + +<p>"You're interrupting an important discussion, Lady Barbara."</p> + +<p>"Is it about your new play? Oh, then I can help! But, if you knew how +hungry I was——"</p> + +<p>"They're expecting you to lunch at home," Eric interrupted. "You told me +you had a party."</p> + +<p>"But I've just telephoned to say that I've been invited to lunch here! +I've burnt your boats. Father was perfectly furious, because mother's +lunching with Connie Maitland, and he counted on me to see him through."</p> + +<p>As she smiled at Eric with her head on one side, he realized that work +was over for the morning.</p> + +<p>"I daresay there will be enough for four," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Then for goodness' sake let's begin before any one else turns up +unexpectedly!" she cried, catching him by the sleeves and drawing him to +the door.</p> + +<p>Grierson and Manders smiled and followed them, carefully brushing +cigar-ash from their clothes and smoothing the back of their hair.</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>Elation battled with annoyance in Eric's mind throughout luncheon. +Barbara had sought him out, when a hun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">{61}</a></span>dred other men—several of them, +like George Oakleigh, undisguisedly in love with her—might have been +preferred to him; but he was offended by her proprietory attitude +towards his work and life. Manders would have the whole story, too, +helped out with first-rate mimicry, running through the Thespian Club by +dinner-time; it would spread in twenty-fours through all of the London +that knew him and half of the London that knew her; and Eric Lane would +be quoted as the latest foil or companion in the latest Barbara Neave +story. One did not even want the girl to be made a peg for Manders' wit.…</p> + +<p>The luncheon, Eric observed morosely, was cheaply successful, for +Barbara talked with barely concealed desire to lay Grierson and Manders +under her spell. By intuition or accident she gave them what tickled +their interest most keenly—intimate stories about herself or her +friends, the proved history of what to them had hitherto been but +alluring gossip, anecdotes of Government House and the minor secrets and +scandals of her father's three terms of office. Eric felt that it was a +<i>little</i> below the dignity of a girl, who was after all the daughter of +a distinguished former viceroy, to be discussing herself and her friends +so freely.…</p> + +<p>They had lost count of time when Grierson looked furtively at his watch +and jumped apologetically to his feet. As he hurried out of the room +Barbara again asked Eric whether he had a rehearsal that day.</p> + +<p>"Because I want to come," she explained wheedlingly, with her head on +one side.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were dark and tired after her overnight excitement; she had +exhausted herself with talking; and for a moment Eric forgot to be +irritated and only saw her as a child whom it would be ungracious to +disappoint. Then he remembered one phase of a rambling story in which +her love of getting her own way had caused her cavalier of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">{62}</a></span> the day to +wait in his car from midnight until six because she had forgotten to +leave a message that she had already gone home. In the story Eric could +not remember any apology from Barbara. Triumphs came so quickly and +easily that she expected everything and valued nothing; a man was +sufficiently rewarded by being allowed to fall in love with her.…</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid rehearsals aren't open to the public," he told her, +brusquely enough to dismiss the appeal, he hoped, but not so brusquely +as to hurt her.</p> + +<p>She looked at him with the glint of defiance which he had seen once +before; then she turned to Manders.</p> + +<p>"Please, I want to come to the rehearsal," she begged. "It's your +theatre, Mr. Manders."</p> + +<p>"It's my play," Eric interrupted.</p> + +<p>She turned her head long enough to say:</p> + +<p>"I was asking Mr. Manders."</p> + +<p>"But it happens that I also——"</p> + +<p>Manders intervened with a clucking noise of the tongue.</p> + +<p>"Keep the ring, keep the ring!" he cried. "You got out o' bed the wrong +side, Eric boy. Don't quarrel, do-ant quarrel! If Lady Barbara wants to +come, let her! It's against the rules, but I'll make an exception for +her." The girl rewarded him with a glowing smile. "You'll be bored, my +dear, I warn you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I am, I can talk to Eric."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Manders, if a rehearsal's worth taking at all, it's worth +taking seriously," cried Eric petulantly. "I've plenty of other use for +my time."</p> + +<p>Manders was faintly amused by the outburst and wholly unmoved. Dire +experience of the jealous and irascible had taught him that he could not +afford to let other people lose their tempers.</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara will promise not to talk," he prophesied. "We're late, +boy."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">{63}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shall talk afterwards," she warned them. "At dinner to-night—Mr. +Manders, I can't get Eric to see what bad plays he writes and what good +plays he might turn out. He's very funny about it."</p> + +<p>"Authors are a rum lot!" said Manders jocosely, slapping Eric's +shoulder. "See about a taxi, boy. I don't let my people keep me waiting +and I don't want them to wait for me."</p> + +<p>It was a defeat for Eric, formally recorded by Barbara with that glint +of triumph which was beginning to fill him with misgiving. They drove in +silence to a side street off Shaftesbury Avenue and groped their way +through the stage-door down a cork-screw staircase and along several +short passages which branched disconcertingly to right or left as soon +as Barbara fancied that she could walk ahead with impunity. From above +came the mechanical runs and flourishes of a piano-organ against the +drone of traffic; somewhere below there was a rapid squeak of voices. +The corridors and stairs were wrapped in warm darkness, and, after one +stumble, Eric felt a hand running down his sleeve and twining round his +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Are you angry with me?" Barbara whispered. "You were so <i>grumpy</i> in the +taxi. And I made such a success of your lunch. Mr. Manders and Mr. +Grierson loved me, and I made even you smile."</p> + +<p>Eric tried to locate Manders in the velvety darkness before replying.</p> + +<p>"You were very amusing," he answered unenthusiastically. "But it's +possible to be amusing even when you're making rather a nuisance of +yourself to several <i>very</i> busy men."</p> + +<p>A sigh fluttered wistfully through the darkness, and he felt her drawing +closer to him.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you a <i>little</i> bit brutal, Eric?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you find every one brutal who doesn't fetch and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">{64}</a></span> carry and wait +out in the snow for you all night—and give you material for new +stories? … Stand still while I find the handle."</p> + +<p>He led her through a studded iron door into the twilit auditorium. The +stalls were swathed in holland covers, and there was a brooding warm +desolation which invited undertones. Barbara looked with growing +interest at a sprawling group of two men and three women on the stage. +Without make-up they were white and featureless in the glare of the +foot-lights; they were jaded and a little impatient, too, but Manders, +who seemed to make his personality unyielding and metallic on entering a +theatre, galvanized them into alertness. A wooden platform had been +built over the middle of the orchestra; and, as soon as he had disposed +of Barbara in the stalls, Eric mounted it and seated himself in an +arm-chair. Manders cautiously squeezed past him, script in hand, to the +stage; there was a preliminary cough, a cry of "Beginners, please!" and +the rehearsal opened.</p> + +<p>Eric allowed the first act to be played without interruption; at the end +he jumped up and entered into whispered conversation with Manders, +turning the leaves of the manuscript and tapping them impressively with +his pencil. One player after another emerged from the wings and stood +listening, nodding and discussing as each point was thrashed out. A few +minutes later Manders came down into the stalls and sat by Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Just a breather," he explained. "No good nagging your people, +particularly when they've been at the job for years and you're a +new-comer.… Some of my spoiled darlings find that a little Eric +goes a long way. You're sure you're not bored, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"I can't <i>see</i> very well," Barbara answered. "If I had a chair on the +little platform——"</p> + +<p>Manders wasted an unseen wink on her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">{65}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, you mustn't talk to Eric, that's all. And, if you see you're +making him nervous, you must run away."</p> + +<p>He helped her up and accommodated her with a property foot-stool by +Eric's chair, leaving her for a moment's resentful scrutiny by a young +woman who had been arguing with winsome persuasiveness about a speech +which Eric under pressure from Manders had consented to cut.</p> + +<p>"Who's that, Eric?" Barbara whispered, as he settled into place.</p> + +<p>"Mabel Elstree."</p> + +<p>"H'm. She doesn't seem to like my being here.… Does <i>everybody</i> +call you Eric?"</p> + +<p>"You're well placed to answer that. Now, Lady Barbara, remember your +promise: no talking!"</p> + +<p>The act was played a second time, taking form and life as all warmed to +their work. Eric watched with critical narrowed eyes, no longer +scattering pencil-marks in the margin of the script, restrained, +impassive and absorbed. Barbara sat with her hands clasped round her +ankles and her head resting against his knee. Only when the act was +ended did he seem to become aware of her; then he edged away and stood +up.</p> + +<p>"Better! Very much better! Just turn to the place where——" He rustled +back into the middle of the act and had it played through to the +curtain.</p> + +<p>Half-an-hour later Barbara emerged into sunshine. Eric was tired and +rather husky, but pleased and hopeful. His earlier irritability was +forgotten save when it obtruded itself reproachfully to remind him that +he had been scantly civil to the girl by his side.</p> + +<p>"The next thing is a taxi," he murmured, as they came out into +Shaftesbury Avenue.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't dream of taking me home and offering me some tea?" she +suggested.</p> + +<p>"I would not, Lady Barbara," he answered cheerfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">{66}</a></span> "Your practice of +visiting young unmarried men in their rooms should be promptly checked. +But I'll drop you in Berkeley Square, if you like."</p> + +<p>"That would be more—respectable. It's curious how you seem to have made +up your mind not to do anything I ask you."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't seem to make much difference to the result."</p> + +<p>She ceased pouting and smiled self-confidently for a moment. Then her +assurance left her, and she slipped her arm timidly through his.</p> + +<p>"Am I being a nuisance, Eric? You said so, and—oh, it <i>did</i> hurt! I +honestly enjoyed myself this afternoon; and I wasn't so very much in the +way, was I? Don't you like me to enjoy myself? Don't you like to see me +happy? Are you sure you're not a little bit sorry you were so brutal to +me?"</p> + +<p>"My conscience is quite easy, thanks. Lady Barbara——"</p> + +<p>He hesitated and felt himself flushing.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara—, I don't understand you, I don't begin to understand +you."</p> + +<p>"You won't write a good play till you do," she laughed. "All your women +are romantic dolls. We're much better and much worse than you think. But +that wasn't what you started to say."</p> + +<p>"I know.… Well, you oughtn't to have come to my rooms last night. +And you oughtn't to have come to-day, though that wasn't as bad.… +What d'you imagine people like Grierson or Manders think? What d'you +imagine Mabel Elstree thinks, when you sit with your head against my +knee?"</p> + +<p>She withdrew her arm and walked for some time without speaking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">{67}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm sorry if I'm compromising you with your friends," she said at +length.</p> + +<p>"And whether you compromise yourself doesn't matter?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I'm used to it," she sighed; then, with one of her April +changes, the sigh turned into a provocative laugh. "If <i>you</i> don't mind +being compromised by <i>me</i>, I'd make you write a <i>wonderful</i> play. My +technique's so good. All you have to do is to fall in love with me——"</p> + +<p>"I shan't have the opportunity," he interrupted. "We meet to-night at +Mrs. Shelley's——"</p> + +<p>"And we were so <i>positive</i> that we weren't going!" she murmured. "You +don't want to see me again?"</p> + +<p>Eric hailed a passing taxi.</p> + +<p>"I like meeting you," he told her frankly enough. "You amuse me—and you +interest me enormously. But I've work to do … for one thing.…"</p> + +<p>She seated herself in the taxi and held out her hand through the window.</p> + +<p>"You might come and call for me to-night," she suggested.</p> + +<p>Eric shook his head. He was shy of entering a house to which he had not +been officially admitted, confronting a strange butler, being pushed +into a room to wait for her, meeting and explaining himself to Lord +Crawleigh or one of the brothers, who would look superciliously at +"Babs' latest capture."…</p> + +<p>"I'll meet you at Mrs. Shelley's," he said.</p> + +<p>The hand was withdrawn, and he could see her biting her lip.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"There's no need to be."</p> + +<p>"I was apologizing to myself—for giving you <i>another</i> opportunity of +refusing something I asked you to do for me."</p> + +<p>Eric walked back to his flat, puzzled and irritated. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">{68}</a></span> girl was +intolerably spoiled; nothing that you did was right, there was +altogether too much wear and tear in trying to adapt yourself to her +moods.…</p> + +<p>Even if you wanted to.…</p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>The rehearsal, despite Barbara, was over in good time, and Eric could +lie unhurriedly in his bath without fear of being late for Mrs. +Shelley's dinner. Two days of his holiday had already slipped away, and +he had made little mark on the work which he had schemed to do. +To-morrow he would start in earnest.…</p> + +<p>Barbara.… He could not remember what had set him thinking about +her. She looked desperately ill, but that was not his fault, nor could +he cure her; which disposed of Barbara.… What she needed was some +one who would pull her up, steady her, master her.… +Unfortunately—for her—he could not spare the time; nor was it part of +his scheme of life to effect her physical and moral regeneration.… +And it was now the moment to begin dressing.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Shelley's house lay between Sloane Square and the river; and Eric +arrived punctually to find her insipidly grateful to him for coming. A +self-conscious Chelsea party was assembling; there were two war-poets, +whose "Trench Songs" and "Emancipation," compensating want of finish +with violence of feeling, had made thoughtless critics wonder whether +the Great War would engender a new Elizabethan splendour of genius; +there was Mrs. Manisty, who claimed young poets as of right and helped +them to parturition in the pages of the <i>Utopia Review</i>; there was a +flamboyant, short-haired young woman who had launched on the world a +war-emergency code of sex-morals under the guise of a novel; there were +three bashful aliens sus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">{69}</a></span>pected of being pianists and one self-assured +journalist who told Mrs. Shelley with suitable heartiness that he had +not <i>met</i> Mr. Lane, but of course he knew his <i>work</i> and went on to ask +Eric if he was engaged on a new "work." The flamboyant woman, Eric +observed, talked much of "creation" and its antecedent labour; the +trench poets, with professional modesty, referred to their "stuff." A +fourth alien entered and was greeted and introduced in halting French, +to which he replied in rapid and faultless English.</p> + +<p>Eric looked round on a triumph of ill-assortment. He came here partly +out of old friendship for his hostess, but chiefly for fear of seeming +to avoid a section of society which at least took itself seriously. +There was no question of a Byronic descent on Chelsea; these people +would ever cringe before the face of success and disparage behind its +back, as they had always done; they made a suburb and called it a +school. For ten years Eric had listened to their theories and +discoveries; after ten years he was still waiting for achievement. The +very house, with its "art" shades of upholstery, its hammered brass +fenders, its wooden nooks and angles filled with ramshackle bookcases, +hard seats and inadequately stuffed cushions, was artificial; it was +make-believe, pretentious, insincere.…</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara Neave."</p> + +<p>There was a rustle of excitement, the more noticeable against the +conscientious effort of several not to seem interested. Eric smiled to +himself, as the young journalist, interrupted in his discourse on "the +aristocracy of illiterates," watched Barbara's entry and posed himself +for being introduced. She looked round with slow assurance, fully +conscious of the lull in conversation and of the eyes that were taking +stock of her. Eric felt an artistic admiration for her way of silently +dominating a room.</p> + +<p>"Am I late, dear Marion?" she asked, with the smile of startled +recognition which made men and women anxious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">{70}</a></span> to throw protecting arms +round her thin shoulders. "Eric and I have been rehearsing our play—the +new one, I mean, that I'm taking in hand—and I had such a lot to do +when I got home." She displayed adequate patience, while Mrs. Shelley +completed her introductions, and then crossed to Eric's corner. "Glad to +see me again?" she whispered. "I've decided that you're to lunch with us +on Saturday."</p> + +<p>"And I've decided to gladden the hearts of my family by going down to +Winchester," he answered.</p> + +<p>"But you must go later. I'll come with you, if you'll find a practicable +train; I'm going to Crawleigh. Say you'd like to travel down with me."</p> + +<p>"I make a practice of sleeping in the train," he answered.</p> + +<p>"You won't on Saturday. Sometimes, Eric, I find your little practices +and habits and rules rather tiresome; I must educate you out of them. By +the way, I want to be seen home to-night."</p> + +<p>It was a disappointing dinner for Eric, as, after coming to gratify +Barbara, he was separated from her by the length of the table. In +conversation Mrs. Shelley always gave people what was good for them +rather than what they liked; Barbara was accordingly set next to an art +editor, who tried to wheedle from her an article on "Eastern Decoration +in Western Houses," while Eric found himself sandwiched without hope of +escape between Mrs. Manisty, who discussed poetry which he had not read, +and the flamboyant novelist, who had lately discovered and insisted on +exposing a mutual-admiration ring in the novel-reviewers of the London +press.</p> + +<p>If dull, the meal was at least not so embarrassing as his dinner of the +night before with Lady Poynter. Barbara seemed chilled by uncongenial +company, though she touched his hand on her way to the door and turned, +with patent consciousness that she was being watched, to give him a +parting smile. Mrs. Manisty also turned, before she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">{71}</a></span> could control her +curiosity, to see for whom the smile was intended. And, as Eric threw +away his match after lighting a cigar, he found two of the men smiling.</p> + +<p>In the absence of a host to pull them together, six groups +self-consciously set themselves to discover a subject of conversation +more worthy of their steel than either the evening <i>communiqué</i> or the +port. The three alien pianists had reduced themselves to a Polish +sculptor, an Irish novelist and a Scottish portrait-painter. By sitting +next to the journalist, Eric saved himself the effort of talking and +recuperated at leisure after the exhausting boredom of dinner. He had +looked forward to seeing Barbara again, feeling disappointment that she +was not in the big shadowy drawing-room when he arrived—(but she would +come any moment)—and a little proprietory thrill of pleasure when she +walked straight across the room to him. But her manner, her use of his +Christian name—(and Mrs. Shelley knew that they had first met less than +twenty-four hours ago)—her clear-voiced, unabashed habit of flirtation, +the parting smile at the door.…</p> + +<p>One of his neighbours interrupted the ill-humoured train of thought by +introducing himself in a pleasant, soft brogue.</p> + +<p>"Er, me name's Sullivan, Mr. Lane. Ye know Priestley, I expect? +Priestley and I have been concocting a great scheme. I have a new book +coming out in the spring and I'm wanting a girl's head for the +frontispiece. Well, since I saw Lady Barbara to-night, there's only one +head that will do for me. And Priestley's the one man to do it. +Charcoal, ye know; a single sitting would be enough. Do ye think she +would be willing?"</p> + +<p>Eric smiled to hide his impatience.</p> + +<p>"Why not ask her?" he suggested. "She's fairly well-known, of course; +everybody'd recognize it."</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't distress yourself! The book's symbolical,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">{72}</a></span> Sullivan +explained vaguely. "I was wondering now, would ye sound her? Priestley +and I don't know her, ye see. And, as ye're a friend——"</p> + +<p>"We'll ask her, when we get upstairs," Eric answered.</p> + +<p>Three tentative chords broke the silence overhead, and a woman's voice +began to sing.</p> + +<p>"<i>Butterfly</i>," the journalist jerked out as though he were in the last +heat of a competition. "Second act, isn't it? Where Madame Butterfly +hears that Pinkerton's ship has been sighted. I never think +<i>Butterfly's</i> as bad as some of the high-brows try to make out. If you +<i>like</i> that sort of thing, I mean," he added prudently.</p> + +<p>Eric held up his hand.</p> + +<p>"<i>Please!</i> I want to hear this."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"<i>One fine day, we'll notice</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A thread of smoke arising on the sea</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In the far horizon,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And then the ship appearing:—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Then the trim white vessel</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Glides into the harbour, thunders forth her cannon.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>See you? He is coming!—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I do not go to meet him. Not I. I stay</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Upon the brow of the hillock and wait, and wait</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>For a long time, but never weary</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of the long waiting.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>From out the crowded city,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>There is coming a man—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A little speck in the distance, climbing the hillock.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Can you guess who it is?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And when he's reached the summit</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Can you guess what he'll say?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He will call 'Butterfly' from the distance.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I, without answering,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hold myself quietly concealed,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A bit to tease him, and a bit so as not to die</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>At our first meeting: and then, a little troubled,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He will call, he will call:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>'Dear baby-wife of mine, dear little orange-blossom!'</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The names he used to call me when he came here</i>.…"<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">{73}</a></span></div></div> + +<p>Eric had allowed his cigar to go out. He lighted it again and turned to +his neighbour with an apology, as the voice ceased and then seemed to +revive with a last sob of ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"She did that very well. Shall we go upstairs? I should like some more. +We can take our cigars with us."</p> + +<p>Without waiting for an answer, he made for the door and hurried ahead of +the others. The drawing-room was sombrely lighted by three low standard +lamps which threw the upper half of the room into shadow. He stood for +several moments with lips parted and shining eyes, trying to identify +three scattered couples of women before reducing the figure at the +piano, by elimination, to Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I say, was that you?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>She made way for him at her side, welcoming him with a chastened smile +and wondering at his sudden enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Did you like it? I'm so glad. I was beginning to think you were a +craftsman, but I believe you're an artist.… I'm full of +accomplishments, Eric. Pity, isn't it, that in <i>spite</i> of it all——?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated, wistfully provocative.</p> + +<p>"What's a pity?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"What you were thinking; that I am <i>what</i> I am."</p> + +<p>"I wasn't thinking that," he answered dreamily. "I was wondering if +you'd sing again. We couldn't hear you at all downstairs——"</p> + +<p>"Enough to bring you up very quickly?"</p> + +<p>He sighed with exasperation.</p> + +<p>"Yes, if your vanity needs a sop. Was that why you sang?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head at him wearily, and he saw undried tears on her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Marion just asked me to sing. It was either that or talking to Yolande +Manisty, and I hate her. What would you like me to sing?"</p> + +<p>Eric felt ashamed of his rasping harshness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">{74}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know. That particular song always makes me cry. In spite of +that," he looked at her, and smiled to himself. "No, I'm going to be +very self-sacrificing. You said you wanted me to take you home, and I +will—if you'll come at once."</p> + +<p>"But it's not half-past nine yet."</p> + +<p>"I don't care. My dear child, d'you think I can't see that you're tired, +ill, over-excited——"</p> + +<p>"It makes the night so long, Eric! But—thank you! I was beginning to +think you were a prig, but I believe you're a saint!" The wistfulness +left her eyes, and she smiled mischievously. "In moments of emotion how +all our habits and practices break down! 'My dear child,' 'My dear +child,' 'D'you think I can't see?' 'My dear child,' 'Tired, ill, +over-excited.'"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Lady Barbara."</p> + +<p>He tried to rise, but she pulled him back.</p> + +<p>"You baby! Can't I make fun of you <i>ever</i>? It meant so much—just that +little change in your voice when you forgot to be inhuman. I prefer +'dear child' to 'Lady Barbara' any day. Do you find it so hard to be +affectionate, Eric?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't tried. It would be impossible with you. I—I don't understand +you. When I was dressing for dinner——"</p> + +<p>"You thought you did? I'm so glad you thought of me, when you were +dressing for dinner; I've a sort of feeling that it's not your practice +to think of me when you're dressing for dinner."</p> + +<p>"I don't imagine my affection makes any great difference in your life," +he interrupted stiffly.</p> + +<p>"Dear Eric, let me laugh at you sometimes! It's good for you and it's +ever so good for me. It isn't as if I'd laughed so very much lately.… I <i>will</i> come home and I'll go <i>straight</i> to bed. But—don't be too +hard on me, Eric."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">{75}</a></span></p> + +<p>Her voice was trembling, and her eyes had again filled with tears.</p> + +<p>"May I say that I'm 'not in the habit' of being hard on people? But—I +don't understand you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now you're repeating yourself," she threw back flippantly over her +shoulder, as she went to bid Mrs. Shelley good-night. "I'm telling +Marion I've got a headache."</p> + +<p>Eric felt that he was slipping into the practice of letting people make +a fool of him.…</p> + + +<h3>4</h3> + +<p>Though it was a fine night, they sought in vain for a taxi and had to +walk the whole way from Chelsea to Berkeley Square, Barbara with her arm +through Eric's and her hand in his, leaning against him.</p> + +<p>"I'm going away on Saturday," she reminded him, as they entered Eaton +Square.</p> + +<p>"High time, too," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Do you want to get rid of me as much as all that?" she asked in gentle +reproach.</p> + +<p>"Well, you'll automatically stop compromising yourself with me. But even +that doesn't matter so much as your health, which you're quite +deliberately ruining."</p> + +<p>She stopped and put her hands on his shoulders, drawing his head to her +until she could kiss him. Still capable of being surprised, he thanked +Heaven—after a quick survey—that they had Eaton Square to themselves.</p> + +<p>"Dear Eric, are you very delicate?" she asked. "It's only when health is +mentioned that you become human. Last night, at the very beginning of +dinner.… And again this evening. If—if I gave in and had a week in +bed, I could twist you round my finger. Now, don't pull yourself away +and look dignified! Don't you see that I'm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">{76}</a></span> paying you a wonderful +compliment? You're like a woman—not that that's a compliment.…"</p> + +<p>She slipped her arm through his again, and they walked on past St. +Peter's. Barbara was tired enough by now to be dragging on his arm, and +he felt a sudden responsibility for her—as he had felt the night before +when she had implicitly entrusted herself to him. He glanced down and +found her walking with eyes closed and a faint smile on a very white +face. The wind was blowing her hair into disorder, and he bent forward +to draw her cloak more warmly over her chest.</p> + +<p>She looked up with her eyes dark and sleep-laden.</p> + +<p>"Am I coming undressed? Eric, you're very good to me! I shall miss you. +Perhaps you'll write to me, perhaps I shall be coming up to London for +just one night in about a week's time; we might dine together. Are you +coming to lunch on Saturday?"</p> + +<p>"I'll give the matter my best consideration. Go to sleep again, child."</p> + +<p>"Dear Eric!"</p> + +<p>She roused again as they crossed Piccadilly; and at the end of Berkeley +Street she again cautiously bade him good-night.</p> + +<p>"And about Saturday?"</p> + +<p>Until that moment he had decided to be immovable about the Saturday +invitation. He did not want to go, he wanted still less to make her +think that he was going to please her. But, when she stopped him before +walking on alone to her house, he felt that their position must be +regularized. He had a certain status of his own—and some little pride.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll come. Delighted," he said with sudden determination.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, dear."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Lady Barbara."</p> + +<p>There was time for an unexpected hour's work; but his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">{77}</a></span> broken night and +jarring day had exhausted him, and he was glad to hurry through his +letters and get into bed. Once there he found himself too tired even for +the routine of reading the evening paper; and, while he tried to make up +his mind to stretch up a hand to the switch, he dropped asleep, +clutching the <i>Westminster Gazette</i> and with the light blazing on to his +face.</p> + +<p>So he found himself five minutes later when the telephone-bell rang. The +voice of a child, eager for praise, said:</p> + +<p>"I'm in bed, Eric. And the light's out. And I'm going to sleep in one +moment."</p> + +<p>"I was actually asleep," he answered.</p> + +<p>"My <i>dear</i>! And I woke you up? I <i>am</i> sorry. Go to sleep again at +<i>once</i>! Good-night!"</p> + +<p>But the sudden shock of the bell had made his nerves restless. He had, +after all, to read the evening paper and two chapters of a novel before +he felt sleepy enough to turn out the light and compose himself.</p> + +<p>Contrition, whim or pressure of other business kept Barbara out of his +life the next morning. He read his letters unmolested, dictated to his +secretary undisturbed and worked until mid-day uninterrupted. Then, as +it was his practice to walk for half-an-hour before luncheon, he +abandoned his own pretence that he was away from London and strolled +along Piccadilly into the Green Park before making for the Thespian Club +in Grosvenor Place. At Devonshire House he caught himself pausing to +glance down Berkeley Street.…</p> + +<p>At the club, Manders was lunching with a square-faced law lord and a +doctor with humorous, shrewd eyes, who called upon Eric to join them.</p> + +<p>"We never see anything of you nowadays," complained Dr. Gaisford.</p> + +<p>"I don't have time to get as far away as this for lunch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">{78}</a></span> every day," +Eric answered, as he pulled a chair in to the table. "You're cutting +your vacation short, aren't you, Lord Ettrick?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I had three weeks' fishing in Scotland," the law lord answered. +"Ever since I came back, I've been thinking that, if I had my life over +again and could choose my own career, on my soul! I'd be a gillie. +They're a great breed, and it's a great life."</p> + +<p>Manders looked reflectively at the powerful, lined face, tanned yellow +over a normally unwholesome white.</p> + +<p>"I'd 'a gone into the Navy," he said. "My idea of a holiday is to get +into old clothes and moon about the Docks or Portsmouth—anywhere with +salt and tar about, you know."</p> + +<p>"And what would our young friend do?" asked Dr. Gaisford.</p> + +<p>Eric blushed to find three pairs of eyes on him. He thought resentfully +over his ten years of journalism; then, with a warm rush of +satisfaction, he saw the elaborate little flat in Ryder Street, the +bathroom poster of "A Divorce Has Been Arranged," the envelopes from his +agent Grierson, containing cheques for—what <i>would</i> they be for?—the +invitations, the pleasant hum of work and stir of interest as shewn in +letters from country clergymen who objected to his use of the word "God" +in a comedy of manners, the deference paid him when he was invited out +to be spoiled and petted, the easy triumphs.…</p> + +<p>"If I had my life over again," he answered slowly, "I should +alter—nothing."</p> + +<p>Lord Ettrick looked at him with raised eyebrows, chewing his under-lip +reflectively.</p> + +<p>"I wonder how long you'll say that," he murmured.</p> + +<p>A page-boy threaded his way to the table and stood bashfully at a +distance with a tarnished salver pressed against his buttons.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">{79}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wanted on the 'phone, sir," he whispered.</p> + +<p>Eric rose resignedly and followed the page to a dark, ill-ventilated box +behind the porters' desk in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!"</p> + +<p>"Is that Eric? Say what you like, my staff-work's extraordinarily +efficient!" Barbara's voice rippled into laughter. "You weren't at your +flat, I just <i>divined</i> that you'd be lunching at your club. I looked in +<i>Who's Who</i> to see which it was.… How are you, Eric, dear? I +haven't seen or heard of you since last night."</p> + +<p>Eric's utterance hardened and became precise.</p> + +<p>"I was asleep then; and I'm at lunch now."</p> + +<p>"Who are you lunching with?" she enquired with unabashed interest.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nobody that matters! What is it, Lady Barbara? What do you want, I +mean?"</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you. Don't you <i>like</i> talking to me?"</p> + +<p>"At the proper time and in the proper place. I say, you know, this is +becoming a little bit tiresome."</p> + +<p>There was a short pause; then a crestfallen voice murmured:</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Eric. I'm truly sorry. I apologize."</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara!" he cried.</p> + +<p>There was only a dull click, a silence and then a brisk nasal voice +saying, "Number, please?"</p> + +<p>Eric strode wrathfully back to the coffee-room.</p> + +<p>"You can't do right with that damned girl," he muttered.</p> + +<p>His companions were already paying their bills, so he abandoned his +cheese and walked upstairs with them to the bright biscuit-coloured +card-room overlooking the gardens of Buckingham Palace. While the others +drank their coffee, he tried to write a very short, very simple note +which somehow rejected his best efforts of phrasing. He had torn up four +unsatisfactory drafts when Lord Ettrick threw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">{80}</a></span> away his cigar and asked +whether any one was walking towards the Privy Council.</p> + +<p>"I'm only scribbling one note," Eric answered.</p> + +<p>What he was always in danger of forgetting was that Barbara was really +only a child; she had begun to speak with a delightful ripple of +laughter, and he had driven it from her voice. When she apologized, +there was something hurt, something very much surprised—as though he +had seen her smiling and slapped the smile away.</p> + +<p>"<i>Please forgive me</i>," he wrote. "<i>I didn't mean to be rude.</i>"</p> + + +<h3>5</h3> + +<p>Before deciding whether to send his letter by hand, Eric ascertained +that, by posting it, he could be sure of its reaching its destination by +the last delivery. Then he walked through the Park with Lord Ettrick, +left him at the door of the Privy Council Office and returned home for +an hour's work before rehearsal. On leaving the Regency, he came back to +Ryder Street and dressed for dinner. His own letters clattered into +their wire cage at a quarter past eight, and, before sitting down to +dinner, he transferred the telephone to his dining-room. The child was +unlikely to refuse so open an invitation to ring up and say that all was +well.…</p> + +<p>There was no call during dinner, no call as he worked in the +smoking-room with the telephone and lamp on a table at his elbow, no +call when he went to bed, though he lay reading for half-an-hour after +his usual time, to be ready for her. The morning brought a pencilled +note ("Surprisingly tidy hand," Eric commented, "seeing what she's +like"), instinct with a new aloofness and restraint. "<i>After your +refreshingly plain hint that I was a nuisance to you, I determined that +you should not have occasion to suffer from my importunity. You may +lunch with us on Satur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">{81}</a></span>day, if you like. And I shall be very glad indeed +to see you, but you must not feel that you are doing this to please me. +I <span class="smcap lowercase">SAY</span> as you <span class="smcap lowercase">THINK</span>: that I have no claim on you. Barbara.</i>"</p> + +<p>Eric smiled indulgently and tossed the note into a despatch-box before +ringing for his secretary. He must be more careful in future.…</p> + +<p>When he looked at his engagement-book on Saturday morning, he found that +Barbara had named no hour; which was characteristic of her. When he +telephoned to the house, there was no answer; which—by no great stretch +of calumny—was characteristic of the house in which she lived. Ninety +per cent. of the people that he knew lunched at half-past one, excluding +a Cabinet Minister, who lunched punctually at a quarter past two, and +three Treasury clerks and one novelist who lunched at one; accordingly, +at half-past one, he presented himself in Berkeley Square, to be +informed by a sedately combative butler that luncheon was at two o'clock +but that Barbara was believed to be in her room.</p> + +<p>Eric followed his guide up four short flights of marble stairs and was +shewn into the untidiest room that he had ever seen, filled in equal +measure with the priceless and the worthless. The bindings of Riviere +rubbed shoulders with tattered paper-backs; a cabinet of Japanese +porcelain was outraged by foolish, intrusive china cats; there was a +shelf of Waterford glass with a dynasty of blown-glass pigs, descending +from the ten-inch-high parent to the thumb-nail baby of the +litter—gravely and ridiculously arranged in a serpentine procession. +Fifty kinds of trophy adorned the mantel-piece, ranging from a West +African idol at one end to a pathetic, brown-eyed Teddy Bear at the +other, with stiff, conventional photographs and occasional miniatures +for punctuation. He recognized his own silver flask—and passed on, with +a smile. Three small tables were almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">{82}</a></span> buried beneath their load of +pink carnations; a box of cigarettes, half-open and half-empty, lay +tucked between the cushions in each of three arm-chairs, and the white +bearskin rug was littered with <i>The Times</i>, a round milliner's box, two +cheque-books and a volume of Ronsard.</p> + +<p>The butler looked dispassionately at the confusion and withdrew, giving +it up as a hopeless task. A moment later he returned to inform Eric that +her ladyship would be with him immediately. Ten minutes later Barbara +came in by another door to find him cautiously picking his way through +the disorder and examining her books and pictures.</p> + +<p>"I didn't expect you so early," she began. "Will you give me a little +kiss, or am I still a nuisance?"</p> + +<p>"You didn't say any time, so I chanced half-past one," Eric answered. +"If you'd told me to come at two, you'd still have been ten minutes +late, wouldn't you?" he added with a laugh. "Lady Barbara, your +conception of tidiness——"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes wide at him in unfeigned surprise.</p> + +<p>"My dear, but you should see my bedroom!" she suggested.</p> + +<p>"The purple bedroom?"</p> + +<p>"Did you remember that? I believe you're beginning to like me, Eric. +Come and sit down instead of fidgeting."</p> + +<p>He paused to finish his inspection, ending up with the nursery +toy-cupboard on the mantel-piece.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! I don't know this one of Jack Waring," he exclaimed on reaching +a cabinet photograph in a silver frame.</p> + +<p>Barbara lighted a cigarette and came beside him, resting her hand on one +shoulder and looking over the other at the photograph, her hair brushing +against his cheek.</p> + +<p>"He—— Give me another match, Eric; this is burning all down one +side—— It's good, don't you think?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">{83}</a></span></p> + +<p>"The best I've ever seen of him, poor chap. I must get his sister to +give me one."</p> + +<p>"And don't forget that you're going to find out whether they've had any +news of him, will you? Johnny Carstairs asked the Foreign Office to make +enquiries through Copenhagen and Madrid, but he hasn't been able to find +out anything."</p> + +<p>"I should be afraid there's nothing to find out," Eric murmured. "He's +been missing for weeks."</p> + +<p>"But if he's been wounded or lost his identification disc—a hundred +things. And it takes months to get news sometimes. D'you like my pig +family, Eric?"</p> + +<p>"Not among Waterford glass," he answered. "Except as part of the general +setting for you."</p> + +<p>She replaced the photograph, laughing, and took his arm, leading him +round the room and giving him the history of her trophies, until a +footman knocked and announced that luncheon was on the table.</p> + +<p>Eric spent the next five minutes being pushed round a large library, +which seemed to contain twice as many voices as people, and introduced +to a second person before he had fixed the identity of the first. Lady +Crawleigh was timorous and subdued, with an air of having been all her +life interrupted in the middle of her sentences and with a compensating +pair of flashing pigeon's eyes which seemed to miss nothing.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad Babs gave us the opportunity of meeting you," she said to +Eric. "I enjoyed your play so much. Your first, wasn't it? It must be a +glorious sensation to make such a success at the outset."</p> + +<p>("She takes in a thousand times more than she ever gives out," Eric said +to himself; then he found himself being spun through the rest of the +family. "Wonder what she does with it?")</p> + +<p>Lord Crawleigh interrupted an indignant, staccato con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">{84}</a></span>versation with +Lady Maitland, who was holding her own with emphatic shakes of a massive +head, to touch finger-tips and introduce him to his sister—the whole +done cholerically and with the air of transacting a great deal of +tiresome business in a short time.</p> + +<p>("Bullies the life out of every one, I've always heard," was Eric's +private comment, as he was introduced to a pair of tow-haired young +officers with limp hands; "except the girl. And she bullies him.")</p> + +<p>"I knew you by sight at Oxford," said Lord Neave, withdrawing his limp +hand jerkily, as though he feared that it would be stolen. "You were at +Trinity, weren't you? You, er, know my brother Charles—Mr. Lane."</p> + +<p>Eric grasped a second limp hand, received a quick, business-like nod +from John Gaymer and found himself confronted by the Duchess of Ross.</p> + +<p>"No one will introduce us!" she cried shrilly with a vermillion pout. +"I've <i>so</i> much wanted to meet you, Mr. Lane. You <i>wouldn't</i> dine when I +asked you! Won't <i>some one</i> introduce us <i>properly</i>!"</p> + +<p>The babble of high-toned voices, the quick patter of speech, the sense +of hurry, the hyperbolical intimacy and enthusiasm were bewildering to a +man who was naturally shy and at that moment mentally tired. Eric +commended his soul to his humour and circumambulated the room, two steps +at a time, until a sudden lessening of noise and tension told him that +luncheon had dawned upon Lady Crawleigh as a thing to be not only +discussed but eaten.</p> + +<p>"We've heard so <i>much</i> about you from Babs," she said, struggling to +finish one of her interrupted sentences. "<i>So</i> good of you to bring her +home the other night."</p> + +<p>Eric poised himself on mental tip-toes, wondering, in general, how far +Barbara made her family a party to her life and, in particular, to which +night Lady Crawleigh was alluding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">{85}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Really——," he began.</p> + +<p>"She gets these turns," Lady Crawleigh pursued. "I blame myself +entirely; I allowed her to stay on working at the hospital when she +simply wasn't fit for it. Now <i>she</i> has to pay for <i>my</i> weakness."</p> + +<p>Eric looked from one to the other.</p> + +<p>"I should prescribe three months in the country, bed at ten—and make +her stay there for twelve hours."</p> + +<p>"I should be out of my mind in a week," Barbara protested.</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and Lady Crawleigh, with a rueful shrug, turned away +to speak to Gaymer.</p> + +<p>"I <i>like</i> the way you order me <i>into</i> bed and <i>out</i> of bed!" Barbara +whispered. "If you cared what happened to me, it would be one thing, +but, when I'm becoming a bit of a nuisance, you know.…"</p> + +<p>Eric looked round cautiously and lowered his voice.</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara," he began.</p> + +<p>"You persist in that?"</p> + +<p>"Babs, then——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you're receiving a favour, not conferring it."</p> + +<p>He drew a deep breath.</p> + +<p>"You are the most exasperating——"</p> + +<p>"Dear Eric! I can't help teasing you! Are you the clever only child? +Well, you ought to be.… I don't believe any one's ever teased you +before. You mustn't <i>be</i> exasperated by me!"</p> + +<p>Her laughter was irresistible, and Eric joined in it.</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara—I'm sorry—Babs, this is serious. You say you'd be out of +your mind in a week, if you adopted my prescription. Let me tell you +this; if you go on as you're doing now, you <i>will</i> go out of your +mind——"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't bother you, if I were in an asylum."</p> + +<p>Eric stiffened and turned his attention to the food before him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">{86}</a></span></p> + +<p>"You're not an <i>easy</i> person to talk to——," he began.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you dear child!" said Barbara, with a gurgle of laughter. "<i>Two</i> +minutes ago it was, 'Ahaw, Lady Crawleigh, I should prescribe …' And +<i>one</i> minute ago you became earnest and loving and grand-paternal, with +your fond advice! Eric, I love you when you're like that! Now don't be +self-conscious! 'Your ideahs of tidiness, aw, Lady Barbarah …' +Whatever people may say, I believe you're intelligent. In time you'll +understand." Her eyes softened and ceased to laugh at him. "Less than +half a week! In time you'll know what you've done for me, what I very +humbly hope and pray you're going to go on doing for me.… You'll +know why I trust you and love you more than I've ever loved any one in +my life before. There! Is that plain enough? I don't say it excuses my +being 'tiresome,' but it may explain it.… Now don't say, 'Lady +Barbarah, I—er—I don't—aw—understand you!'" Her fingers twined their +way confidingly between his. "Why bother? Why not go on being just what +you are?" she whispered. "Something that's made me think life's still +worth living. I don't <i>claim</i> it," she added with a change of tone. "I +ask it."</p> + +<p>"And will you do something for me in return?" Eric asked. "Will you take +six months' complete rest in the country, drop smoking——?"</p> + +<p>"But I told you I should go out of my mind in a week!"</p> + +<p>"Will you go for six weeks, six <i>days</i>?"</p> + +<p>"You want to get rid of me?"</p> + +<p>Eric felt his patience ebbing.</p> + +<p>"I want to see you looking less of a haggard little wreck than you do +now," he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Then I'll go. Thank you, Eric."</p> + +<p>From the end of the table Lord Crawleigh's voice penetrated +authoritatively.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">{87}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Barbara! … Barbara! Are you coming with us by the 4.10?"</p> + +<p>She pressed Eric's hand before turning her head.</p> + +<p>"I can't come till the 5.40," she said.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Barbara——"</p> + +<p>"I—<i>can't</i>, father."</p> + +<p>("Bullies the life out of every one, I've always heard," Eric repeated +to himself, as Lord Crawleigh subsided into inarticulate blustering. +"Except the girl. And she bullies him.")</p> + +<p>"I did wonderful staff-work with Waterloo this morning," Barbara +confided. "The 5.40 stops at Winchester <i>and</i> Crawleigh."</p> + +<p>"I could have told you that," said Eric. "So could Bradshaw, deceased."</p> + +<p>"But fancy looking at Bradshaw, when you can persuade some one to look +at it for you! … And you can't get <i>any</i>where in Bradshaw without +going through the Severn Tunnel and waiting two hours at Bletchley. +Besides, Waterloo rather loved me. Just my voice, you know.… We'll +go down together. You can wire to your people."</p> + +<p>"I told them I'd come by the 5.40."</p> + +<p>"But how lucky!"</p> + +<p>"How—understanding," he amended.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>If you can be sure of your opponent, you may win by throwing down your +weapon. It is the victory of the weak over the strong, the 'tyranny of +tears.' Or perhaps it is the victory of the weak over the weaker. But +you must be sure of your opponent.</i>"—From the Diary of Eric Lane.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">{88}</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_THREE" id="CHAPTER_THREE"></a>CHAPTER THREE<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">LASHMAR MILL-HOUSE</span></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I've come back … and I was the King of Kafiristan … and +you've been setting here ever since—O Lord!"</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling: "The Man Who Would Be King.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>As the crow flies, Lashmar Mill-House is but five miles from Winchester. +By road, however, there are six miles of tolerable grey flint and rusty +gravel on the Winchester and Melton turnpike, followed by three Irish +miles of unaided forest track. Half of it lies under water for six +months of the year; but in the summer a rutted ride projects from stony +sand-pockets framed in velvet moss, with tidal-waves of bracken surging +up from the dells at the road-side and low branches meeting to net the +sun-shine.</p> + +<p>At the end of the three miles Swanley Forest seems to have paused for +breath. There is a natural clearing a mile long and three quarters of a +mile broad—cherished common-land, where the Lashmar villagers walk many +assertive miles of a Sunday to preserve their rights of way; where, too, +tethered goats and errant geese make good their eleventh-century claim +to free pasturage. At one end of the down-soft clearing, a Methodist +chapel, two shops and five cottages constitute the village of Lashmar; +at the other lies Lashmar Mill-House, slumbering half-hidden by beech +trees to the unchanging murmur of the Bort. The relevant deeds and +charters prove beyond a doubt that the lord of Lashmar Mill-House has +the right to make Lashmar village<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">{89}</a></span> grind its corn in his mill, paying +him in kind and yielding three days' labour a year to grind his. The +ambitions of Sir Francis Lane and of his eldest son, however, were not +feudal.</p> + +<p>The autumn floods were lapping the road-side as Eric and his sister left +the twinkling lights behind and turned, after a crackling six miles of +metalled high-way, on to the primæval ride that bored faint-heartedly +through the forest. He was tired and uncommunicative, though his journey +from Waterloo had been uneventful; once inside the carriage and tucked +warmly into a corner, Barbara had closed her eyes, sighed and dropped +asleep. Not until he stirred himself to collect his hat and coat did she +open her eyes and look round with a tired smile; as the train steamed +out of Winchester, an ungloved hand fluttered into sight for a moment.</p> + +<p>It was Eric's first visit to Lashmar since the production of the +"Divorce" had made his name known throughout England; and he could not +conceal from himself that he was trying to render his return agreeably +dramatic. Lady Lane assisted the conspiracy by inviting their few +neighbours to meet him; Sybil was awaiting him on the platform with +ill-suppressed excitement; and it was entirely appropriate that Agnes +Waring should dine at the Mill-House on his first night at home.</p> + +<p>"Geoff came home on leave yesterday," said Sybil.</p> + +<p>"From Scapa? Oh, good! I haven't seen him for a long time," said Eric.</p> + +<p>But for Basil, who was in Salonica, the party would be complete; and +Eric felt a moment's compunction at having allowed himself to be so much +caught up by the work and distractions of London. When the car stopped +at the door of the Mill-House, he looked with affection at its squat, +sleepy extent, punctuated with lifeless, dark windows and wrapped in +age-long slumber; as the door opened, he saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">{90}</a></span> his mother silhouetted +against the golden light of the hall.</p> + +<p>"At last, Eric!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"It's good to be home again, mother," he answered, jumping out of the +car and embracing her.</p> + +<p>While his sister drove round to the stables, Eric walked arm-in-arm with +his mother into the low, warm hall. For more than thirty years Lady Lane +had guarded, counselled and provided for an eccentric husband and a +turbulent family, shouldering the cares of all, budgeting, nursing and +educating on an income which slipped unrewardingly away until she +assumed control. She had learned Greek and Latin to help the boys with +their home-work and had trained their characters in an austere school of +aggressive Puritanism. If she were a little intolerant, at least she +reared her children to a lofty sense of honour, a cold chastity of life +and speech and a fierce refusal to compromise where truth or personal +reputation was concerned. Thanks to her, three boys and one girl were +now able to fend for themselves; Sybil, factotum and amanuensis to her +father ever since she had learned to read, could support herself +anywhere; Geoff was firmly on his feet in the Navy, Basil had passed +into the Civil Service a few weeks before the outbreak of war. Lady Lane +was justly content with her children; of Eric, whom she had kept alive +when the doctors despaired of him, she was justly proud.</p> + +<p>"Come into the drawing-room," she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. +"I've got a fire there."</p> + +<p>"Nothing's changed," said Eric wonderingly.</p> + +<p>Lashmar Mill-House, for all its size, contained hardly more than two +rooms on the ground-floor; a vast, book-lined study for Sir Francis, an +equally vast living-room for the rest of the family and, between them, a +furtive, dark rectangle where they hurried through their meals. Eric had +begged for years to have the back wall removed from the hall to make an +adequate dining-room, but his mother had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">{91}</a></span> grown middle-aged in a +familiar compass and did not care to be told by him too explicitly how +the house should be run and improved. In the moment of arrival Eric was +too much pleased with his welcome to be critical.</p> + +<p>"You look tired," she said, holding his face to the light. "Tell me what +you've been doing all this while. You've become a great celebrity, +Eric."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing much to tell. I've been doing a lot of work, meeting a +lot of people.… It's been rather fun.…"</p> + +<p>As soon as she had put away the car, Sybil joined them and stood with +her back to the fire and her hands in the pockets of a short tweed +skirt, staring idly at her own small feet in their brown stockings and +thick brogues and rousing herself with an abrupt jerk of the head when +she wanted to intervene with a question.</p> + +<p>"You were <i>barely</i> civil, when I rang you up the other night," she +interjected, in a pause, with the disconcerting directness of nineteen.</p> + +<p>"I was late already, and you were making me later," Eric answered +patiently. "That night——? Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>He detailed Lady Poynter's dinner to his mother and observed an +expression of mixed curiosity and disapproval settling upon his sister's +face.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. O'Rane? Sonia Dainton that was? H'm," said Sybil. "And Lady +Barbara Neave. Are you being taken up by <i>that</i> set now, Ricky?"</p> + +<p>"I don't quite know what you mean by 'being taken up.' I met them at +dinner.… And I lunched with the Crawleighs to-day," he added +without filling in the intervening encounters. "Lady Crawleigh wants me +to go down there next week-end, but I'm too busy; and week-ends simply +wear me out."</p> + +<p>"You <i>have</i> made yourself popular with them all at once!" Sybil +commented. "What's Lady Barbara like?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">{92}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Interesting girl," Eric answered, casually.</p> + +<p>"Is she anything like what people make her out to be?"</p> + +<p>Eric smiled tolerantly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know enough of what people make her out to be," he replied. +Sybil was smiling mysteriously and exasperatingly to herself.… "Is +the guv'nor working?" he asked his mother.</p> + +<p>Eric prowled through the hall to his father's big work-room. Sir Francis +was sitting bent over a litter of papers, with a green eye-shade clamped +to his lined forehead and an ill-smelling corn-cob drooping from beneath +his unassertive grey moustache. In an arm-chair before the fire Geoff +was contentedly dozing with the bog-mud steaming from his boots and a +half-cleaned gun across his knees. By his side an elderly retriever +peered reflectively into the flames and from time to time yawned +silently.</p> + +<p>"'Evening, everybody," said Eric. "I've been sent to hunt you off to +dress, father. You asleep, Geoff? If not, how are you?"</p> + +<p>Sir Francis pulled off the eye-shade and held out his hand with a wintry +smile. The boy in the arm-chair turned on to his other side and dropped +asleep again with a disgusted grunt.</p> + +<p>"He's got about a year to make up," explained Sir Francis. "The Grand +Fleet doesn't do much sleeping. Well, Eric, what news?"</p> + +<p>"Everything very much as usual," was the answer.</p> + +<p>"Everything's always very much as usual here," said his father, as he +turned out the reading-lamp.</p> + +<p>He sighed as he said it, and Eric tried to calculate the number of years +in which he had come down like this for the week-end—to be met, before +the era of motor-cars, by a fat pony and a governess cart, to be greeted +by his mother with affection which he never seemed able to repay, to +drift into the library and detach his lank, unaging father from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">{93}</a></span> his +studies. Sir Francis had accepted marriage and the presence of a wife as +he would have accepted a new house and strange house-keeper; children +had been born; after the publication of his Smaller Anglo-Saxon +Dictionary the friend of a friend had recommended him, through a +friend's friend, for a knighthood, and he had bestirred himself with +wide-eyed, childish surprise for the investiture and a congratulatory +dinner at the Athenæum, returning to Lashmar Mill-House grievously +unsettled and discontented for as much as a week. He had talked of +running up to London occasionally, of having these fellows down for the +week-end; he had complained that he was growing rusty and losing touch +with the world. Then the murmur of the mill-stream had drugged his +senses, and he had settled to the Century Dictionary of Anglo-Saxon, +Volume VII E-G.</p> + +<p>After the restlessness of London, Eric could not at once accommodate +himself to the leisurely contentment and placidity of Lashmar.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, Geoff!" he cried.</p> + +<p>The boy yawned and stretched himself like a cat, then became suddenly +active and projected himself across the room, turning in the door-way to +shout: "Bags I first bath, Ricky!"</p> + +<p>"Well, don't take all the hot water," Eric begged. After the ingenious +comfort of his flat in Ryder Street, he could not at once accommodate +himself to the simplicity of the Mill-House. "Pity you never turned the +east room into a bathroom," he said to his father. "You talked about it +for years. We <i>need</i> another one."</p> + +<p>It was an old controversy and part of Eric's persistent but fruitless +campaign against the studiedly Spartan attitude of Lashmar Mill-House.</p> + +<p>"It's rather an unnecessary expense. And we seem to struggle on without +it," said Sir Francis.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">{94}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I avoid unnecessary struggles as much as possible," Eric answered +shortly.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't get the work done while the war's on," Sir Francis pointed +out, rooting himself firmly in the particular.</p> + +<p>Eric walked upstairs, reflecting in moody dissatisfaction on unnecessary +struggles. No one ever laid out his dress clothes for him at Lashmar. It +never <i>had</i> been done when he was a school-boy, carefully protected from +pampering. Sporadic attempts were made, whenever he launched an +offensive against the domestic economy of the house; but the maids were +always changing, Lady Lane believed that all men-servants drank or stole +the cigars.… In the last resort, these country-bred girls were so +difficult to teach.…</p> + +<p>Down the passage came the sound of emptying taps and a voice singing +cheerfully in the bath.</p> + +<p>"Don't stay there all night, Geoff!" Eric cried, banging on the door. +"It's a quarter to eight now."</p> + +<p>It was five minutes to eight before the bathroom, sloppy and filled with +steam, was surrendered to him. No man could have a hot bath and dress in +five minutes; he was particularly anxious to appear at his best for the +meeting with Agnes.…</p> + +<p>And the water was tepid.…</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>"I have been apologizing for you," said Lady Lane pointedly, as Eric +hurried late and ill-humoured into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>He had ready at hand a caustic little speech about inadequate hot-water +supply and insufficient bathrooms, but it was intended for domestic +consumption and, after one scowl at Geoff, he laid it aside. Family +altercations, like family jokes, should be reserved for the family, +though no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">{95}</a></span> one else emulated his moderation. He wondered whether the +servants grew as weary as he did of the story about the cross-country +journey from Oxford to Winchester; it was dragged up at his expense +whenever any one missed a train—and trains were missed weekly. +Servants, of course, could always leave; they always did. Perhaps they +made bets which would hear the Oxford-to-Winchester story most often in +three months; perhaps they met in sullen conspiracy and pledged +themselves to decamp in a body the next time any one heard it.…</p> + +<p>That tepid bath had chilled his enjoyment of everything.…</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to be late," he murmured, stiffly impenitent.</p> + +<p>Agnes Waring was in the foreground, talking to his father; he shook +hands shyly and squeezed past her to Nares, the apologetic, ineffectual +vicar, and from Nares to Mrs. Waring, who was talking to a young officer +whom she had brought over with her party. Colonel Waring stood by the +fire, retailing safe newspaper opinions on the war and representing to +Eric's theatre-trained eyes, with their passion for "types," almost too +perfect a picture of the younger brother who had passed from twenty +years in a cavalry regiment to half-pay retirement and a certain +military pretentiousness of daily life. There was no one else. Had their +lives depended on it, Lashmar could not yield another man or woman.</p> + +<p>"Entertaining here always reminds me of a musical comedy," Eric murmured +to Sybil. "Where one goes, all go:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Oh, we're all of us a-going back to Lon-don,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Over ocean; that's the notion</i>.…<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Song and dance. Curtain. Who's the fellow in uniform?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Benyon. A friend of the Warings," Sybil an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">{96}</a></span>swered. "You're not +going to be patronizing, <i>are</i> you?"</p> + +<p>Eric pulled up and banished the ill-humour induced generally by the +sleepiness of the country and, in particular, by that tepid bath-water. +He had looked forward to the week-end, he proposed to enjoy himself; +there was no need even to ask where he had been placed at dinner. Sybil, +at nineteen, worshipped every word and movement in Agnes Waring at +twenty-eight—her way of laughing and speaking, her phraseology, her +mental outlook; every opinion was introduced with the words, "Agnes +says——" Two years before, when the infatuation was in its perfervid +youth, Sybil had made up her mind that her brother was to marry Agnes; +the determination was still so strong that she was uneasy at the +presence of young Benyon.</p> + +<p>Eric had no strong view either way; Agnes was fair, slight and +small-featured with observant grey eyes and a good deal of detached +humour. Since the incubation of his first unsuccessful play, he had +argued out every character and situation with her; when feminine +psychology was in dispute, her ruling was accepted without cavil. More +than once, as they splashed conversationally through the Lashmar woods, +he had felt that she gave even a self-sufficient bachelor something that +he lacked and would always lack; and, whenever the ubiquitous, dry +celibacy of the Thespian smoking-room oppressed him, his thoughts +drifted to Agnes Waring and a doll's house somewhere on the Eaton +estate, with one table, two chairs and an avalanche of green silk +cushions in the drawing-room.… He was not in love with her; but, +when Sybil telephoned to find whether he was coming to the country for +the week-end, he had resolved to retouch his conception of Agnes. For +the first time in his life he could not only afford to marry; he could +regard marriage from the standpoint of an eligible bachelor. If he was +not in love with Agnes, he was in love with love.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">{97}</a></span></p> + +<p>Distant voices wakened him from his reverie, and he found the long, low +white-and-gold drawing-room buzzing with congratulations. Benyon had +been to the "Divorce" three nights before; old Nares rubbed his hands, +coughed and described a proud moment, a <i>very</i> proud moment, when he had +been taken behind at the Lyceum and presented to Sir Henry Irving. There +followed an ingenuous account of his make-up.… Eric smiled +elastically, stroking his chin and letting his gaze wander round the +white panelled walls, the gilt sofa and chairs and the gold and white +overmantel—the coming of Dionysus to Europe in a chariot drawn by +lions. He realized for the first time how much he hated overmantels.</p> + +<p>Sybil was now talking to Agnes, but she withdrew discreetly at his +approach and gave him an opportunity, as they went in to dinner, for a +question about Jack.</p> + +<p>"We've heard nothing since the August report that he was missing," said +Agnes. "I'm keeping my mind a blank. I couldn't build all sorts of +wonderful hopes on his being a prisoner and then, perhaps, have to go +through the whole thing again.… Mother's quite certain, of course; +but then mothers are like that, bless them.… I'll let you know, if +we hear any news, Eric."</p> + +<p>"Thanks very much. By the way, can you spare me one of the van Laun +photographs of him?"</p> + +<p>Agnes thought for a moment and then wrinkled her forehead.</p> + +<p>"He was never taken by van Laun."</p> + +<p>"But I've seen one."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"He gave one to Lady Barbara Neave."</p> + +<p>Her forehead wrinkled in deeper lines of perplexity.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know he even knew her.… He never mentioned her name; I +suppose he thought I should disapprove."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">{98}</a></span></p> + +<p>Eric was tempted to coax an opinion of Barbara; but they had known each +other for less than a week, and, if he went round collecting the +judgements of all who had ever heard of her, no one would believe that a +serene, professional spirit of enquiry prompted his curiosity. While +native caution kept him hesitating, the opportunity slipped away; Agnes +surrendered to the boisterous advances of Geoff, and he turned to find +Mrs. Nares tentatively conversational on his left.</p> + +<p>For a quarter of an hour Eric listened with one ear to the parish +history of Lashmar. Unknown names married and begot families; unknown +names sickened and died or were unexpectedly revived when the copiously +described symptoms had rendered recovery an affront to the imagination; +a few unknown names joined the army; one man was a prisoner, another +wounded; and two more lastingly discredited Lashmar by saying that, when +the army wanted them, the army could come and take them. Eric was +informed that he would hardly know the dear old village now; he felt +that he could support the privation with fortitude and hoped its annals +might be closed with that felicitous generalization, but Mrs. Nares had +recollected her husband's gallant attempt to be accepted as a chaplain +and the Bishop's gracefully worded inability to spare him, with a +postscript in his own writing to commend such spirit in a man of +sixty-two and to hold him up as an example to his juniors.</p> + +<p>Eric made mental notes of Mrs. Nares and memorized some of her more +engaging mannerisms. If he could work her up, he could find room for +her; but he must also find some one to play her with a breathless, +unpunctuated patter; Kitty Walters seemed to have gone to America for +good, but Dorothy Martlet could take the part.… The whole dinner, +the atmosphere of the place were a satire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">{99}</a></span> on life in a remote +country-house. He wondered what the party at Crawleigh Abbey was like.…</p> + +<p>An unforeseen question rebuked his inattention. Eric disposed of it +skilfully; but the thread of thought was snapped, and he looked round +the table to see what had been happening since his reverie began. Agnes +had been set at liberty by Geoff and was watching Eric as he watched the +others. Their eyes met, and both smiled.</p> + +<p>"Conscription between your father and Benyon over Sybil's body," he +murmured, disentangling the conversations. "Needlework Guild between the +guv'nor and Mrs. Nares. Poor old guv'nor.… V.A.D. training between +mother and the vicar. '<i>Naval Occasions</i>' between your mother and Geoff. +D'you ever feel you'd like to stir all this up with a pole, Agnes? We're +too far from the coast for an air-raid.… And, if you had one, no +one would ever talk about anything else for the rest of his life; it +would be like the Famine in Ireland or the Wesley descent on Cornwall." +A maid, squeezing through the inadequate fairway behind the chairs, +bumped Eric's back and made him spill his wine. "This place gets on my +nerves!" he added irritably.</p> + +<p>Out of the corner of her eye Agnes looked at his mobile, discontented +face and crumbled her bread in silence for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Don't give up coming here altogether," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>Eric sipped his wine thoughtfully and avoided her eyes. Here was an +opportunity, had he cared to take it, for opening up a greater intimacy +with Agnes; but his mind was unconcentrated and he did not know what he +wanted.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I shall come down from time to time," he answered vaguely.</p> + +<p>"I've been so looking forward to hearing about all you've been doing. We +don't make much history in Lashmar."</p> + +<p>It was common ground between them that the Warings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">{100}</a></span> lacked money for her +to live as independently as all Warings felt that every Waring had a +right to live. Each generation of younger brothers had been confined +within an ever-narrowing circle; and, but for the war, Jack would now be +patiently going the North Eastern Circuit, the first Waring to apply his +mind to law; but for Jack and the money spent on him at Oxford, Agnes +would have gone to Newnham and prepared a career for herself.</p> + +<p>"You're too good for this place, you're wasted," Eric broke out after a +moment's silent brooding.</p> + +<p>"There's not much choice, is there?"</p> + +<p>Eric brooded again.</p> + +<p>"Are you happy?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Happier than you are, I think," she answered with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Why on earth d'you say that?" he asked in surprise.</p> + +<p>"You just seem changed to-night," Agnes replied. "Have you been working +too hard?"</p> + +<p>Over his port—which would not stand comparison with any from the artful +little cellar in Ryder Street—Eric tried to settle in his mind how much +she had seen and how much she had imagined. There was assuredly this +much change in him, that to-night Agnes was not even waking him to +dispassionate interest; he had no attention to spare her. And yet it was +not that Barbara had captured his mind; she was nothing but an elf of +mischief, dancing in the sunshine backwards and forwards across his +path, pelting him with flowers, vanishing and reappearing. Restlessness +or discontent must have peeped from behind the suave mask. He had meant +to be more friendly, far more friendly; they had not met for nine +months;—and both were disappointed.</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room Agnes kept her chair a few inches behind the circle +of the others, watching, listening and reflecting. Eric seemed to think +that he was still at one of the tiresome long parties where he was +expected to glitter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">{101}</a></span> and to be shewn off; he had talked very well at +times, but he felt that he had been making voluble conversation in a +nervous dread of silence between them. His new life was rather turning +him into a public entertainer; he was enigmatic and unapproachable.</p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>As Eric, with caution born of experience, lit one of his own cigars and +made room for Geoff at his side, an idea came to him so seductive, so +simple and so compelling that he wondered why he had never thought of it +before. When Geoff asked: "Are you down here for long, or are you going +back on Monday?" Eric answered with unsought inspiration:</p> + +<p>"I shall go back on Sunday night."</p> + +<p>It had never occurred to him before that, by this facile course, he +could avoid an early and cold drive into Winchester, a crowded train, a +free fight for the last copy of <i>The Times</i>, a late arrival at the +department where he composed propaganda for neutral consumption. And he +had never felt so urgent a need to escape from the Mill-House.</p> + +<p>"I haven't seen your jolly old play yet," said Geoff. "I suppose I can +count on you for a box? If you'll give us dinner first, I might collect +a few bright lads and give the thing a bit of a fillip. I should think +it must be rather a rag, being famous."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that depends on your definition of fame—and of a rag," Eric +answered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, being invited everywhere," said Geoff unhesitatingly. "Having your +photograph in all the papers. Girls waiting in a queue for your +autograph. A galaxy of beauty prostrating itself at your feet to get an +extra line."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">{102}</a></span></p> + +<p>"That sounds more like musical comedy," said Eric doubtfully. "I don't +fly as high as that."</p> + +<p>Geoff was too young to have outgrown the appeal of the stage. He +regarded Eric with as much admiration as one brother accords another and +with undisguised envy.</p> + +<p>"I <i>did</i> enjoy your play," said Benyon, moving into a chair by his side. +"Agnes came up to dine with me, and I took her.…"</p> + +<p>Eric bowed without listening to the end of the sentence. He was mildly +surprised to find Agnes being discussed by her Christian name and +wondered why he had not heard of Benyon before. Perhaps it was her fault +that they had established no spiritual contact at dinner; she had +conceivably lost interest in him, and he wondered whether he was +sufficiently interested to make sure.…</p> + +<p>"The mater told me you'd another thing on the stocks," Geoff went on.</p> + +<p>"It's being produced next month," answered Eric.</p> + +<p>He looked impatiently round the cramped dining-room, listening for a +moment to an altercation between Waring and Nares on the Dardanelles +expedition. It was surely worth while to explore Agnes further and to +see what part in her life this young Benyon was playing.…</p> + +<p>Fortified by the wise decision to return to London earlier than he had +first intended, Eric entered the drawing-room full of toleration and +good-humour. Bending over Mrs. Nares' sofa, he atoned for his +inattention during dinner with thirty seconds' belated sparkle and a +simple epigram which he had already tried with effect on Mrs. Shelley. +They were joined by Mrs. Waring, and, as he had hardly spoken to her all +the evening, he consented to talk about his forthcoming play—which he +enjoyed as little as a superstitious mother might enjoy describing her +unborn child—until in a subsequent regrouping she confided to Sybil +that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">{103}</a></span> she was very much attached to Eric; he was so unspoiled, so +charming.…</p> + +<p>"Aren't you rather proud of him?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He's very clever and he's had a big success," Sybil conceded +critically. "But, if any one says 'Lane,' the whole world thinks of +Eric, while father, who's spent his life——"</p> + +<p>She was interrupted by Mr. Nares, who stationed himself at her elbow, +coughing apologetically until she gave him an opportunity of asking her +to sing. As she went to the piano, Eric moved across the room to Agnes' +chair and suggested that they should go out on the terrace.</p> + +<p>"It's stifling in here," he grumbled; and, after a quick sidelong +glance, Agnes followed him.</p> + +<p>They strolled through one of the French windows to a long gravel path, +which ran flush with the inky, slow-moving mill-stream. Overhead the +trees stretched across the narrow ribbon of water, brushing the back of +the house and releasing brittle leaves of copper and dull gold to +undulate in the breeze before they settled on the surface and swept +gently over the creaking wheel. A crescent moon was reflected +unwaveringly in the black water, and the autumn breeze blew a scent of +decaying, damp vegetation from the dense woods all around them.</p> + +<p>"Remember when we used to have races with paper boats, Agnes?" Eric +asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>She nodded, wondering why he had reminded her.</p> + +<p>"What years ago it seems!"</p> + +<p>"Only about five. Though we were both old enough to know better."</p> + +<p>"It seems longer," said Agnes, looking at him thoughtfully and wondering +whether he had only invited her out there as a demonstration against +Sybil for disparaging him to her mother.</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>feel</i> a day older."</p> + +<p>"You're changed. We were all of us saying that before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">{104}</a></span> you came into the +drawing-room to-night. Your mother's rather worried about you, Eric."</p> + +<p>He lighted a cigarette to shew the steadiness of hand and eyes.</p> + +<p>"She needn't bother," he answered easily. "I'm carrying a good deal of +sail—but I'm better than I've ever been. Agnes, I don't usually talk +about what I'm only <i>thinking</i> of doing, but with you it's different.…"</p> + +<p>He slipped her arm through his and walked up and down the gravel path +describing his conception of a novel as it had revealed itself to him a +week before when he was at an Albert Hall concert. His confidence +flattered her into disregarding the egotism which made him remember her +only when he wanted to talk about himself; she forgot the sensation that +he had outgrown her as much as he had outgrown the paper-boat races on +the mill-stream by their side. Once the night wind, blowing on to her +unprotected shoulders, sent a shiver through her; but it was Eric who +coughed, and she wondered whether he knew why Lady Lane always looked so +anxiously at his sunken cheeks and starved body. She wondered, too, +whether she would have cared for him so much if he had been robust and +tranquil as Geoff.</p> + +<p>The music had ended long before he had done talking; tentative cries of +"Agnes!" passed unheeded, and she was only recalled to the present by +the appearance of Colonel Waring in overcoat and soft hat half-way +through the open window.</p> + +<p>"Bed-time, Agnes," he called out, sniffing the night air. "If you've +been giving that girl of mine a chill, Eric——"</p> + +<p>"You're not cold, are you?" Eric asked her.</p> + +<p>"Not very," she answered with a tired and rather disappointed smile.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but why didn't you tell me?" he protested in a convincing voice of +concern, as he led her back into the house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">{105}</a></span> and helped her into her +cloak. As a chorus of farewell rose and isolated them, he lowered his +voice. "You'll let me know when you have any news of Jack, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"<i>If</i>," she answered wistfully.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't lose heart. I expect he's all right, and there's been some +hitch in getting the news through. He's all right, Agnes."</p> + +<p>"I hope so."</p> + +<p>She shook hands and walked despondently into the night. Eric seemed to +have become artificial in the last few months—just when he might have +helped her most. He lengthened his face and lowered his voice +sympathetically, but he was growing into a social puppet and losing his +individuality.… It had not been a very amusing dinner.</p> + +<p>"Did you enjoy yourself?" Colonel Waring asked her, as they settled into +the car.</p> + +<p>"Very much, thanks," she answered quietly. "I'm rather tired, though."</p> + +<p>Benyon told her that Eric's new play was to be produced within a month +and invited her to come with him. She answered uncertainly and lapsed +into silence.</p> + +<p>As the car bumped over the springy turf of Lashmar Common, Eric stood +gazing at the stars and drinking in the thousand mingled scents and +sounds of the night. Somewhere hard by, a bonfire was pungently +smouldering; there was a sour smell where a flock of geese had been +feeding all day; flaring acridly across was a transitory reek of burnt +lubricating oil, and the hint of a cigar so faint that it was gone +before he could be sure of it.… The lumbering creak of the +mill-wheel rose assertively above the drone and plash of the stream; a +shiver of rain and a gentle sigh of wind in the top branches of the +trees behind him were suddenly swallowed by the hoot of an owl.</p> + +<p>Eric started—and wondered why he was standing there in the cold. Then +he remembered that he had stayed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">{106}</a></span> be by himself and to think +something out. There was a change somewhere, and he was trying to locate +it. He had come to retouch his memory of Agnes, and he had seen her +alone and with others; they had talked the conventional jargon of the +dinner-table, their fingers had brushed emotion as they discussed her +missing brother, and for half an hour they had marched up and down the +terrace arm-in-arm, discussing and arguing on an unwritten book, +recapturing an old intimacy which he had shared with no one else. In the +light of the drawing-room Agnes' grey eyes were black and mysterious; +her lips were parted, and her cheeks warmly flushed; he had never seen +her look prettier, he had never been more attracted by her.</p> + +<p>The change must be in himself; he demanded of her something more +volcanic and inspiring than she could give, something to feed his own +languid vitality instead of placidly laying him to rest.…</p> + +<p>Shutting the front door, he went back to the drawing-room, where the +family was assembled to compare notes and pool information.</p> + +<p>"The vicar's starting a class for making bandages.…"</p> + +<p>"The Warings haven't heard anything of Jack yet.…"</p> + +<p>"That Benyon must be one of the Herefordshire lot, I fancy. An old +private bank.…"</p> + +<p>Eric hesitated on the threshold, looking from one to another. Sybil was +undisguisedly disappointed; she had so desperately set her heart on his +marrying her beloved Agnes, and the night's meeting had brought them no +nearer. Lady Lane, still anxious, beckoned him into the room and took +his face between her hands, turning it to the light and kissing his eyes +again, as on his arrival.</p> + +<p>"You look tired, Eric. You'd better go to bed, or you'll never be down +to breakfast."</p> + +<p>"I wasn't thinking seriously of being down to breakfast in any case," he +answered with a yawn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">{107}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be late. It makes so much extra work for the maids, if they +have to serve several breakfasts and can't get in to do your room."</p> + +<p>He smothered an impatient retort and strolled to a table by the fire +where Sybil and her father were sipping long tumblers of hot milk, while +Geoff gulped home-made lemonade with avid enjoyment.</p> + +<p>"Any whiskey?" he asked, raking the tray with critical eye. He did not +greatly want it for himself or at that moment, but every night the same +plea had to be preferred, there was the same hesitation and hint of +inward struggle, the same unspoken protest, as though the shocked +stalwarts of temperance were saying: "You can't want whiskey after +claret <i>and</i> port." He was being made to drink for conscience sake. And +it was intolerable that Waring, Benyon and Nares should have been sent +into the night without a stirrup-cup.</p> + +<p>"It's in the dining-room," said Sybil, walking reproachfully to the +door.</p> + +<p>"Here! All right! I'll ring," Eric cried.</p> + +<p>"The servants are all in bed," she answered. "Or, if they're not, they +ought to be."</p> + +<p>He thanked her suitably on her return, but one discordant, trifling +incident coalesced with another, the tepid bath with the whiskey +demonstration, to give him a sense of angular discomfort. In a few hours +he seemed to spend a month's nervous energy in battling for things that +were not worth winning. The whole week-end would be a failure.…</p> + +<p>The milk tumblers were returned to their tray; Sir Francis filled his +corn-cob for the last time; Geoff ferreted curiously among a pile of +library novels in one corner, and Lady Lane walked softly round the +room, testing the fastenings of the windows, pushing a top-heavy log +into security and turning off unnecessary lights. The hall clock,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">{108}</a></span> +striking eleven, seemed to rouse and inspire them with a common impulse.</p> + +<p>"Don't burn the mid-night oil too long," said Lady Lane, brushing Eric's +forehead with her lips.</p> + +<p>"I simply couldn't sleep, if I went to bed now," he told her. +"Good-night, mother. Good-night, everybody."</p> + +<p>As the house grew silent he brought in his despatch-box from the hall +and began to read through the skeleton of a novel which he had promised +himself to write as soon as "The Bomb-Shell" was safely launched. In the +second week of the war he had spent an afternoon in a recruiting office +with men of all ages and physiques, pressing forward for enrolment. +Three over-worked doctors pounded and sounded them, prodding them on to +a weighing-machine, measuring their height and chest expansion, testing +their eyes. Eric had tried to cheat by memorizing the order of the +descending black capitals while he lay on a sofa breathing freely or +holding his breath as he was ordered; but the chart was changed before +his turn came. When he had dressed, the examining doctor referred him to +a row of three weary clerks at a baize-covered table, who informed him +that he was rejected. The folio form contained a comment—cardiac +something; he could not read the second word. There was no appeal, and, +after a moment's indecision, he recognized that there was nothing to do +but to go home.</p> + +<p>Outside the office his neighbour in the queue overtook and hailed him +with the words: "What luck?"</p> + +<p>"They've spun me," Eric answered. "There was just a chance that I might +slip through in the crowd.… What did they say to you?"</p> + +<p>"I was spun, too," his companion answered. Then he laughed uneasily and +his face was drawn and dazed in the August sunshine. "You wouldn't think +you could have much the matter with you and not know anything about it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">{109}</a></span> +I always thought I was a first-class life; I haven't had a day's illness +in ten years——"</p> + +<p>"What did they say?" Eric asked, as the other hesitated in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"They give me anything between three and six months," he answered, +moistening two grey lips. "One of the fellows … took me on one side, +you know … asked me a few questions …" He broke off and waved to +a taxi which was rolling lazily down Whitehall. "I must go and see my +own man. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye! Good luck!" Eric cried.</p> + +<p>As he walked home he wondered how much composure he would shew if a +sentence of death were slapped at him like an overdue bill. He wondered, +too, what he would do with those testing, supreme three months, if they +were all that he was allowed. Stoicism, hedonism, the faith of his +childhood, new-fangled mysticisms would join hands and hold revel round +his soul for those twelve weeks, those eighty-four days, those two +thousand and sixteen hours.… The speculation fascinated him until +he almost fancied that the sentence had been passed on him. Gradually he +wove a drama round it; line by line it took shape for a book that was to +be subtiler, finer and more sincere than anything that he had ever +written. If only he could find time for six months' uninterrupted work! +London had to be not only captured but held; more than ever before, his +work was the one thing that mattered.…</p> + +<p>The clock in the library struck twelve, and he tossed the manuscript +skeleton back into his despatch-box. His mind was vaguely disturbed with +a sense of duty undone, until he remembered promising to tell Barbara if +he heard any news of Jack Waring. For a moment he thought of writing to +her; but in fact there was no news, he would have only himself to blame +if he re-established communications with her in obedience to a passing +whim. She was at Crawleigh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">{110}</a></span> resting and building up her strength; he +would be back in full harness within thirty-six hours, and there would +be no room for her madcap incursions into his life.</p> + + +<h3>4</h3> + +<p>The house was very silent when Eric at length mustered resolution to go +to bed. The fragrance of many wood fires warmed the passages and +staircase with a drowsy scent; once a distant window rattled tremulously +in the wind, the hall clock gathered itself together and hesitated +before striking; all else was deep-brooding peace.</p> + +<p>He turned out the lights and mounted to his room on tip-toe. There was a +fancied sound of tranquil breathing, as he paused outside each door in +the long, low passage. He at least was awake; his highly-strung new +restlessness would not accord with the placidity of these contented +people. Twenty-five years ago, his mother had fetched him from +Broadstairs for his first Christmas holidays; and he had been +wonderfully glad to see her and to be home again. So it had been every +holiday; he started with an afternoon's preliminary exploration, +flinging open doors, sniffing the familiar scent of leather bindings, +lavender and pine-logs, critically watchful for change. Now the change +had come in himself; Agnes had commented on it, his mother and Sybil had +noticed it.…</p> + +<p>His bedroom was as he had known it from childhood; a hard brass bed, +white painted chest-of-drawers and wash-hand-stand, threadbare green +carpet, flowered and festooned pink-and-white wall-paper. (It <i>must</i> +have been renewed in twenty-five years, but the pattern was the same.) +There was an oak-framed "Light of the World" over the bed, supplemented +on the other walls with progressive personal records—eleven podgy, +flannelled little boys in quartered chocolate-and-gold caps, guarded and +patronized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">{111}</a></span> by a flannelled and whiskered master; four lean-faced, stern +young school prefects in gowns and white ties; two hundred shivering and +draggled young men and girls, pressing together for warmth in the five +o'clock chill of a June morning outside the Town Hall of Oxford. There +were two shelves of calf-bound, marbled prize books between the windows, +a pair of limp, battered racquets over the mantel-piece and a fumed-oak +shield with the university and college arms contiguously inclined like +the hearts of two lovers.</p> + +<p>Eric shed his coat and waist-coat on the bed, lighted a pipe and prowled +ruminatively round the room. Somewhere in the shivering ball-group Jack +Waring was to be found, marked out by the blue dress-coat of the +Bullingdon. Philpot of B.N.C., Trevor of the House, Loring of the House, +Crabtree of Magdalen, Flint of Exeter—Eric turned from one blue-coated +sign-post to another until he identified Waring with a crumpled shirt +front and disordered hair, cross-legged in the front row. It was a +smiling, vacuous, uncharacteristic photograph, and he abandoned it for a +bulky album stamped with his initials.</p> + +<p>He retreated to the bed and sprawled over a group of the "Mystics." This +was a detached and scornful club, exasperating to outsiders, tiresome to +its members; Waring and he had joined it at the same time and taken +possession of it; their vague home intimacy had ripened into an +interested friendship as they strolled back to college from the weekly +meetings, once more refighting the frigidly abstract battles in which +they had lately engaged from the depths of arm-chairs with their feet on +the table and piled dessert-plates in their laps. Without effort or +desire Waring had set a fashion and founded a school of icy +fastidiousness. Within the limits of college discipline, which he +scrupulously observed, Waring dissociated himself from the life and +conventions of the college, the abbreviations and colloquialisms of +Oxford speech, the slovenly mode of dress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">{112}</a></span> and juvenility of mind. His +serenity floated as smoothly over the collective ideas and standards of +his fellows as over intercollegiate jealousies; and, as he left the +college distantly alone, the college sought him out, elected him to +clubs which he seldom attended and to banquets which he overlaid with +baffling and frigid aloofness.</p> + +<p>When Waring went to the bar, he shared chambers with Eric for four years +in Pump Court; and, though they met at most for an hour each day, there +resulted an intimacy which neither could replace when Waring moved to +the greater comfort of a bedroom at the County Club. For two or three +years before the war they hardly met; Eric, disappointed and sore from +want of recognition, was shutting himself away from his former friends, +while Waring was gathering together a practice and exploring with +discrimination the social diversions of London. The war hardly increased +the distance between them, and it was only when Jack Waring was reported +to be "missing" that Eric realized he had lost his best and oldest +friend.</p> + +<p>He replaced the album in its shelf and went on undressing. So many +friends had already been killed in these first fourteen months of war +that he had fallen into a "sooner-or-later" frame of mind about all. +Their death ceased to surprise and no longer shocked him as it had once +done. Until the war, Jack was always at call. Now, when the war ended, +he would <i>not</i> come back.… Eric shrugged his shoulders and +clambered into bed. The Warings were plucky about it, because every day +the suspense must become worse; and all the while people would rush up +and ask for news, as he had done with Agnes, instead of leaving her to +spread the news as soon as she had any. People thought that they were +being sympathetic when they were simply tearing the bandage away from +the wound to gratify their own curiosity. He would never have asked the +question but for his promise to Barbara.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">{113}</a></span></p> + +<p>Why, then, was he not letting her know the result? He reached for his +despatch-box and settled himself comfortably against the pillows.</p> + +<p>"<i>I promised to see if I could get any news of our friend Jack Waring</i>," +he began, then hesitated to wonder whether her letters reached Barbara +uncensored or whether sharp-eyed, subdued Lady Crawleigh would ask +tonelessly, "Who's your letter from, Babs?" Decorum, he decided, should +blossom between the lines and shed its waxen petals round each word.… "<i>His sister was dining with us to-night, and I am sorry to say</i> …" +"<i>Did you know him well? He was one of my greatest friends at Oxford. +I remember once</i> …"</p> + +<p>Eric found himself fondly stringing together anecdotes of Jack until he +had overshot the limits of a single sheet; it seemed but a moment before +he was leaning out of bed to reach a third. "<i>You must forgive me, if I +have rather let myself go about him</i>," he ended. "<i>I remember the first +weeks of the war, when I had a nervous breakdown. His father's place is +about two miles from here, and he used to come round and sit with me. +I've only to shut my eyes to see him standing by the fireplace, with his +elbow on the mantel-piece and his cheek on his hand, talking to me. And +I'd give a great deal to have him here to-night.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>But I'm afraid I'm occupying an unfair proportion of your time and +strength at a season when you've faithfully promised to take care of +yourself and to have a proper rest. I hope you didn't get carried beyond +Crawleigh station; it's been rather on my conscience that I got out at +Winchester instead of coming on with you the whole way. Are you aware +that you collapsed from sheer exhaustion almost before we were out of +Waterloo? I thought you'd fainted and, as you have my only flask of +brandy, I had a bad fright. Isn't it worth while to take a little care +of yourself? You're so intolerably vain that I needn't remind you that +you're<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">{114}</a></span> very young, extraordinarily lovely at times, very clever and +utterly wasted. However, that's your affair, and you're not likely to be +much impressed by any advice I give you, nor am I much impressed by my +right to give you advice. If I hear any news of Jack, you may be sure +that I shall let you know. Now, good-night, good-bye and a speedy +recovery.</i>"</p> + +<p>In reading through his letter, Eric could not help feeling that, where +he had sown decorum, a certain intimacy had shot up. But at three +o'clock in the morning he could not bother about that.</p> + + +<h3>5</h3> + +<p>In the first drowsy moments after waking, Eric realized that he was +starting at a disadvantage. It was half-past ten. He had therefore +missed breakfast, disorganized the housemaids' programme for the day and +made himself too late to accompany his mother to church.</p> + +<p>"I seem to have broken all the rules of the place before getting out of +bed," he told himself, as he rang for hot water.</p> + +<p>Then he laughed as he recalled an old "Punch" drawing of an intoxicated +reveller in a Tube lift, who also contrived simultaneously to break all +the rules by smoking, by not "standing clear of the gates" and, +pre-eminently, by not being beware of pickpockets. The laugh put him in +good humour and reminded him that good humour must be his sword and +shield, if he hoped to get back to London that night without a struggle. +He sauntered in search of his brother with a razor in one hand and a +shaving-brush in the other to ask which night he would like to dine and +have his promised box at the Regency.</p> + +<p>When he entered the dining-room, a pencilled note in a distantly +familiar writing was lying by his plate.</p> + +<p>"<i>Now you <span class="smcap lowercase">MUST</span> admit that my intelligence department is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">{115}</a></span> good</i>," he read +in slanting, irregular strokes which hinted at a recumbent position and +a writing-block balanced against the knees. "<i>You never told me your +address. I didn't know where to look for you in the telephone book, you +were utterly lost. Eric, will you believe me? I carried the telephone +into bed with me; I said, 'Trunks, please,' and Trunks Please said +'Honk!' (Why do they always say 'Honk'? I believe they're Masons, or +else they've always just woken up.) Well, I said 'Honk!' too, and asked +for your number in Ryder Street; and <span class="smcap lowercase">THEN</span> I found out your address in +the country. Don't you think it was rather clever of me? And, dear Eric, +don't you think it was <span class="smcap lowercase">VERY</span> sweet of me? I wanted to thank you for +something I expect you're quite unconscious of. (What a sentence to +throw at the head of a rising dramatist!) I mean your gentleness and +care for me yesterday. I always know I'm so safe with you, Eric.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>I'm obeying you to the letter. We've got rather an amusing party here; +Gerry Deganway and Sally Farwell, my cousin Johnnie Carstairs (perhaps +<span class="smcap lowercase">ONE</span> pinch too much Foreign Office), Bobbie Pentyre, who's on his last +leave before going out, his rather tiresome mother, the immaculate +George Oakleigh</i>.…" Her pen strayed into mischievous comments and +absurd stories about the house-party. "<i>But this bores you</i>," she broke +off abruptly. "<i>I felt all this week as if I'd been sharing everything +with you so extraordinarily. But no one shall say that I don't know when +I'm becoming tedious! What I wanted to tell you was this; and I was led +astray by this mob of people. I've washed my hands of them! I'm in +bed—bed at 7.15 <span class="smcap lowercase">POST MERIDIEM</span> (is that right?) and I'm staying here. +I'm honestly resting. But—(a new sheet for this)—I've <span class="smcap lowercase">GOT</span> to be in +London next week—Thursday—for a happy day with the dentist. I shall be +all alone, the house will be shut up and everything will be as +uncomfortable and depressing as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">{116}</a></span> can be. Don't you think it's almost +a duty for you to come and dine? I'll have the dusting-sheets in my room +lifted up, and we'll crawl underneath them and eat hard-boiled eggs in +our fingers off the corner of the table. And I'll play to you; I might +even sing to you; in general terms I shall be very sweet to you and, if +you don't come, I shall know it's because you're afraid of falling in +love with me.</i>"</p> + +<p>Eric smiled to himself, as he pocketed the letter and prospected for +note-paper and an unoccupied table.</p> + +<p>"<i>Your picnic dinner sounds most attractive</i>," he wrote. "<i>I shall be +delighted to come. It is so characteristic of you not to mention a time +that I hesitate to point out the omission. I shall come at 8.0, unless +you tell me to the contrary. And I shall insist on your singing. +Good-bye. Take care of yourself.</i>"</p> + +<p>He tossed the letter into the box in the hall, but took it out again +immediately. There was too much idle curiosity in the house already. No +one would accept his picture of Babs as he saw her; assuredly no one +would believe his account of their relationship, if he were in a mood or +state to give it. He put on an overcoat and walked, with the confirmed +Londoner's shivering hatred of the country in autumn, to the tumble-down +shanty which did duty as general store and post office to the hamlet of +Lashmar.</p> + +<p>Once nerved to face the wet roads and penetrating chill, Eric decided to +acquire merit by walking through the woods and meeting the church party +on its return. Lady Lane had already shewn off her "sailor son" to the +exiguous congregation; it was the turn of "my eldest son, the author, +you know," to submit. He could hear all about Basil and generally +popularize himself so that he would be allowed to leave that night +without protest.</p> + +<p>His mood was so radiant that he achieved his effect before the end of +luncheon. As Geoff drove him to the station, he almost seemed to have +enjoyed himself and to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">{117}</a></span> leaving with regret.… Winchester, +Basingstoke, Vauxhall, the river and the Houses of Parliament gave him +successive thrills of pleasure, as though he had been away from England +for years. Pride of possession seized him when he entered Ryder Street; +as he shut the front door and looked at his black-framed prints and +lustre bowls, he felt like a miser locking himself within his +treasure-house to feast his eyes on the signs of his material victory +over fate. So many people allowed life to control them instead of +controlling life. And, when they had failed through their own inertia, +they invented an external destiny to save their faces. Man created God +to have somewhere to put the blame.…</p> + +<p>There was an average pile of letters on his library table. Lady Poynter +hoped to get some rather amusing people to lunch on Thursday; could he +bear to come again? <i>So</i> sweet of him, if he would. Mrs. O'Rane wrote +vaguely of a party which she had in prospect, without apparently knowing +very much about it: "<i>a sort of house-warming. I'm not asking you to +meet any one in particular, because I don't know who'll be there. It'll +be a mob, I warn you. I'm inviting my friends, my husband's inviting +his; they'll probably quarrel, and there's sure not to be room for all. +Whatever you do, have a good dinner before you come. It doesn't sound +attractive, does it? But these things are often nothing like so bad as +one fears beforehand. I propose to enjoy <span class="smcap lowercase">MY</span>self.</i>"</p> + +<p>Eric was amused by her candour and decided to look in for a few minutes.</p> + +<p>Lady Maitland, complaining that "<i>Margaret Poynter always <span class="smcap lowercase">ACCAPARER</span>-s my +nice young men</i>," invited him to shew his loyalty by coming to dine on +Friday. "<i>Babs Neave is coming</i>," she added.</p> + +<p>As he had intended to spend Sunday evening in the country, he was +absolved from all work and could give undi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">{118}</a></span>vided attention to the dinner +which his cook had improvised. (But he must get an ice-safe capable of +holding an adequate week-end supply. Dinner with only a choice of sherry +and of gin and bitters, with no opportunity for a cocktail suggested +"roughing it" to his mind.) He dined with a book propped against its +silver reading-stand leisurely and warm after his bath, comfortable in a +soft shirt and wadded smoking jacket.</p> + +<p>After dinner he unlocked a branded cedar-wood cabinet, the first that he +had ever bought, and looked lovingly at the cigars, rich, dull-brown and +ineffably fragrant, bundle pressed shoulder to shoulder with bundle. A +new stock of wine had still to be entered in the cellar-book; and he had +to find places on his shelves for Hatchard's last consignment. It was +not yet easy to realize that, until the success of his play—six +thousand pounds sterling in eight calendar months—a new book had been +an event.…</p> + +<p>For a happy hour he arranged and rearranged. At the end, surveying his +handiwork with undisguised pleasure, he thought of the bizarre night +when Babs Neave had forced her way in. He could still hardly believe +that it had occurred. And yet, without shutting his eyes, he could +almost see the child, deadly pale, tired, delighted and wholly +unexplained, bending forward with her wonderful white arms outstretched +to catch poor Agnes Waring's horse-shoe paper-weight, laughing one +moment, crying the next, kissing him the moment after. And how she +seemed to be in love with him.…</p> + +<p>He took out a foot-rule and measured the space under the windows for two +possible new book-cases. He would need them soon; and they would make +the room look better filled. It was a beautiful room, a beautiful flat. +From every point of view he was leading a very beautiful life.…</p> + +<p>The clock struck eleven; and his parlour-maid came in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">{119}</a></span> with a syphon, +decanter and glasses. He did not drink whiskey once a month, but the +tray added a roundness and finish which the Spartans at Lashmar +Mill-House were incapable of appreciating. Were they Spartans—or simply +people without his instinct for life?</p> + +<p>He filled a tumbler with soda-water and subsided into his deepest +arm-chair, looking lazily round the room, drawing pleasurably at his +cigar and wrapping himself in the softest down of contentment. His diary +was within reach, and he thought over his abbreviated week-end. Agnes +Waring had dropped out of his life; Barbara had never come into it. +There was nothing to record but the names of his mother's guests at +dinner.…</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>There are few things so exhausting as the quiet of the +country.</i>"—From the Diary of Eric Lane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">{120}</a></span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_FOUR" id="CHAPTER_FOUR"></a>CHAPTER FOUR<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">INTERMEZZO</span></h2> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What hadst thou to do being born,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mother, when winds were at ease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a flower of the spring-time of corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A flower of the foam of the seas?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For bitter thou wast from thy birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Aphrodite, a mother of strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For before thee some rest was on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A little respite from tears<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A little pleasure of life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For life was not then as thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But as one that waxeth in years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet-spoken, a fruitful wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Earth had no thorn, and desire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sting, neither death any dart;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What hadst thou to do amongst these,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou, clothed with a burning fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, girt with sorrow of heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou sprung of the seed of the seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As an ear from a seed of corn<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As a brand plucked forth of a pyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a ray shed forth of the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For division of soul and disease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a dart and a sting and a thorn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What ailed thee then to be born?<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Swinburne: "Atalanta in Calydon</span>." +</p></div> + + + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>Moral delinquency in England, if of sufficiently ancient lineage, grows +venial with the years and, if carried out with adequate ruthlessness or +at least success, may quickly find itself invested with grandeur. No one +boasts of his own illegitimacy, but most men like it to be known that an +ancestress, whose memory is kept green, once enjoyed royal favour. No +man tells his guests that they are eating stolen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">{121}</a></span> food from stolen plate +in a stolen house; but many will admit, without imposing a bond of +secrecy, that their great-great-grandfathers went to India to seek their +fortune and apparently found it. "He that goes out an insignificant boy +in a few years returns a great Nabob," said Burke, without dwelling on +the intermediate stages. They will admit almost as readily that their +grandfather reluctantly parted with land to the end that railways might +be built, or that their fathers ran the blockade and supplied the South +and the slave-owners, hazardously and romantically, with munitions of +war.</p> + +<p>The Neave fortunes had their origin in the character and position of +Lord Chancellor Crawleigh; and history has dealt faithfully with him. +John, first baron, acquired the Abbey from a misguided supporter of the +'15 and left it with sufficient means for its upkeep to his grandson +William, the second baron and first viscount, who built on sure +foundations. Common sense and a certain practical alertness in the +halcyon days of the Enclosure Acts did nothing to diminish the patrimony +of Charles, fourth baron, third viscount and first earl, though the +estate came to be temporarily encumbered when the good fellowship of +John, the second earl, won him the costly regard of the Regent. At a +time when the House of Commons was pulling one of its long faces over a +periodical schedule of the Prince's debts, a Garter became vacant; and +His Royal Highness, with no other means of marking his affectionate +gratitude, secured it for his friend with a further step to the coveted +rank of marquess. Thereafter the public life of the family was +characterized by honour and integrity; and the Garter, re-bestowed as +soon as surrendered, became a habit. The second marquess held a sinecure +under Lord Aberdeen; another flitted to and fro in shadowy retirement as +a Lord-in-Waiting; a third, exploring the United States for the +broadening of his mind, married an American wife.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">{122}</a></span></p> + +<p>The union infused so much new blood into the declining, short-lived +stock that there seemed no limit to the energy and success of the heir. +Charles, fifth marquess, was a member of parliament in his twenty-second +year, an under-secretary when he was twenty-six and Governor-General of +Canada before he was thirty-five. Thereafter, having got him abroad, +succeeding governments vied with one another to keep him abroad. The +vice-royalty of India followed almost automatically; he spent two years +as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland to oblige his party leaders and was now in +the full vigour of middle age with nothing to do. The House of Lords +offered no opportunity to an incurably bad debater; and the radicals by +destroying the constitution, bullying the king and playing with +revolution had made it a place of arid pomp, whose futility took away +something of a man's dignity every time that he went there. +Nevertheless, once a viceroy, always a viceroy, as his daughter +sometimes reminded him. Lord Crawleigh ruled Berkeley Square and +Crawleigh Abbey as though he were still in India, as though, too, he +were suppressing the Mutiny single-handed. "Once a mutineer, always a +mutineer," Lady Barbara would occasionally say of herself.</p> + +<p>This week-end she had irritated her parents by choosing a train +convenient neither to family nor guests, by arriving speechless with +fatigue and by retiring to her bedroom and announcing that she would +probably stay there. Lady Crawleigh felt that prudence, after so long +delay, might have timed its coming more opportunely; a houseful of young +people could be trusted, in dealing with her sentences, to complete the +ruin which her husband had begun; but late hours, excitement and the +legacy of her illness had reduced Barbara's strength until Dr. Gaisford +pronounced that he could not answer for the result if any pressure were +put upon her.</p> + +<p>Though the windows were now thickly curtained and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">{123}</a></span> bright fire was +burning, Barbara could never come into her bedroom without a shiver. In +the spring and summer of 1915, when Crawleigh Abbey was a military +hospital, she had worked by night and lain awake by day, deliberately +and with the sun shining on her face, for fear of dreaming. Madness or +death could be no worse than the torture of being pitilessly and +unceasingly watched when she knew that she was only dreaming but could +not wake. Of late the form of her dreams had changed, growing less +defined; there was no longer the old accusing pair of eyes to reproach +and spy on her as soon as the room was in darkness, but she was +conscious of vague presences which she could not clearly see. After +fainting in the train a month before, she had heard Eric's voice in her +sleep, though she could not recognize a face which she had never seen; +none of her dream-faces had features. There was a shadow somewhere in +all her visions of Eric; some day she feared that the shadow would take +form, the eyes would return to watch her.…</p> + +<p>The fire was so bright that the room grew no darker when she turned off +the light; and, though she placed a coloured handkerchief over her eyes, +it gave her no protection. When she pulled it impatiently away, the +glare was so fierce that she could not see the familiar bookcases and +chairs. Gradually the whole room was enveloped in a sheet of flame, and +in the midst she saw a gigantic figure on a throne.</p> + +<p>"God," she whispered—and knew that she was dead and had come to be +judged.</p> + +<p>The throne was familiar from an old picture in Siena; God was the +Ancient of Days, drawn by Blake for the Book of Job. Strange that, after +all, these stories were true.… She wondered why He was old or, +being old, why He was no older.… The white flame beat merci<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">{124}</a></span>lessly +upon her eyes, and she could see that they were alone in Space.</p> + +<p>God was waiting for her to confess.…</p> + +<p>It was idle to confess when God was omniscient, and she kept her lips +obstinately closed.</p> + +<p>But God and she were alone in Time. He had sat for an eternity before +she came to the judgement-seat; He would wait for an eternity and +condemn her for an eternity.…</p> + +<p>"Vanity.… I suppose that's what you want me to say." She wondered +whether her voice would carry through Space; she was no bigger than +God's right hand … alone … and naked. "I've always been spoiled, +and that makes any one vain. Some allowance …"</p> + +<p>It was idle to excuse herself when God was omniscient.</p> + +<p>"I <i>didn't</i> realize what I was doing." (God must know that she was +speaking the truth now.) "He never missed an opportunity of hurting +me—quite unfairly; I've nothing to be ashamed of before I met him. I +made up my mind to shew him I wasn't quite as bad as he thought. He . . +. fell in love with me and wanted to marry me.… I was taken by +surprise … mad.… I didn't know what I was saying, I told him I +couldn't marry any one who wasn't a Catholic.…"</p> + +<p>Catholic …</p> + +<p>Barbara stopped short to wonder what God must think of all the jarring +sects which laid claim to His exclusive revelation. The Ancient of Days, +God the Father, Jehovah, Allah.… She had always wondered what He +would make of His fratricidal followers. Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox.… What must Christ make of the bitter fanatics who swam through +blood to a world of universal love?</p> + +<p>She had lost her way in the confession; and God brooded in silence over +Space and Time, ignoring her, forgetting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">{125}</a></span> her. She sank to the ground, +hiding her face in her hands and wondering when she had died. Perhaps +God had waited until Jack Waring was killed, so that he might testify +against her.…</p> + +<p>"I know it was a lie," she broke out suddenly, "but I <i>didn't</i> realize +what I was doing. The next thing … Is this Hell? I always felt I was +going through Hell on earth. That night … I didn't see or hear from +Jack for three months; I thought he'd given me up. I was happy for the +first time since I'd met him. Then he followed me into the country and +asked me again if I'd marry him. He said he <i>was</i> a Catholic now. He'd +believed me, he'd done this for me, perjured himself.… I remember +saying to myself "If there <i>is</i> a God …" I didn't know.… "If he +<i>has</i> a soul to lose.…" I couldn't undo it. I did what I could for +him, I wrote and said I'd marry him, I swore it by the sign of the +Cross.… He went out to the war, he never answered; he's killed now.… I don't know what you're going to do with me. I've <i>been</i> +punished. It can't be any satisfaction to you to send me out of my mind. +For a year I've been tortured. Now I was just beginning to forget and to +be happy. I suppose you want to take <i>that</i> away.… I <i>didn't</i> +realize.… Why <i>shouldn't</i> I be happy?"</p> + +<p>The dim figure on the throne made no answer, and Barbara began to crawl +forward. Perhaps God had not heard.… But she would spend years +crawling through Space.…</p> + +<p>"I want to get it over. No punishment's as bad as this suspense. <i>You</i> +know that.… Won't you tell me what I'm to do …?"</p> + +<p>She crawled forward again, though her knees were aching. Above her +loomed God's foot-stool; and she touched it reverently, then beat upon +it furiously in the hope that God might rise and kill her again … +for ever.… The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">{126}</a></span> sheet of flame marched nearer until it scorched her +eyes. Space and Time shrank and were consumed until she found herself +kneeling upright, staring wildly at the fire and beating with open palms +on the wooden end of the bed.</p> + +<p>Barbara fell backwards, pulling the clothes up to her chin.</p> + +<p>"Another second … and I should have gone mad," she whispered.</p> + +<p>Downstairs some one had thrown open a window, some one was playing a +piano. She turned on the light and rang for her maid.</p> + +<p>"I shall get up for dinner after all," she said. "I mean, I shan't.… I don't know what I'm talking about. What—I mean—is: I shall get out +of <i>bed</i> for dinner, but I shan't go down. <i>That's</i> clear, isn't it? +What's the time?"</p> + +<p>"Eight o'clock, my lady."</p> + +<p>Then her dream had lasted less than five minutes.…</p> + +<p>"I'm going to sleep. I shan't want any dinner. Will you bring the +telephone in here?"</p> + +<p>The maid left the room in bewilderment at the conflicting orders and +sought counsel of the housekeeper. Ten minutes later Lady Crawleigh came +in to find Barbara in bed with the telephone tucked under one arm and +the receiver to her ear. She finished some request for an address, +nodded as the answer was given and lifted the instrument to a table by +her side.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, you seem to have given poor Merton a fright," said Lady +Crawleigh. "Is anything the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I never felt better in my life," answered Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Are you coming down to dinner?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I'm well enough for that.… You can get on without +me. If things seem to hang fire, get Gerry Deganway to give imitations +of His Excellency."</p> + +<p>Lady Crawleigh bridled at the suggestion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">{127}</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's not at all a respectful way to speak of your father," she +observed reprovingly.</p> + +<p>"Well, His ex-Excellency, then. That no better? Sorry. He's very +amusing—Gerry, I mean. Why not get father to give imitations of Gerry? +In its way, that ought to be just as funny."</p> + +<p>Her mother advanced reproachfully to the bed and laid her hand upon the +rail.</p> + +<p>"<i>If</i> you're not feeling well," she said with incontrovertible logic, +"you ought to go to sleep instead of telephoning to people and writing +to people. If you're all right, you ought to help with these tiresome +creatures. They're <i>your</i> guests."</p> + +<p>Barbara felt her own pulse and sighed.</p> + +<p>"I'm well enough to write one letter," she said, "and perhaps to get up +in time for lunch to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Then she hunted among the pillows for a pencil and addressed an envelope +to "<i>Eric Lane Esq<sup>re</sup>, Lashmar Mill-House, Lashmar, Near Winchester, +Hants</i>."</p> + +<p>She was already tired; perhaps, if she could fix her thoughts on Eric +until she fell asleep, she would be spared a second vision of judgement. +A dressing-gong sounded in the distance, and she debated whether to +abandon her letter to Eric and go down. Gerald Deganway would be +simperingly sympathetic. "Your mother tells me you're not feeling very +grand" (odious phrase). "Poor you!" (Damnable phrase, damnable +creature—with his insecure eye-glass and plastered flaxen hair!) Johnny +Carstairs would be pontifical and pretentious—"The unhappy Foreign +Office comes in for all the kicks. There's a body of three-pound-a-week +gentlemen in Fleet Street who'd enforce a <i>real</i> blockade, 'leave it to +the Navy,' don't you know, all that sort of thing. I'm aware of them; I +sometimes wish I could have a heart-to-heart talk with them.…" By +staying in bed she was at least keeping the promise that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">{128}</a></span> she had given +to Eric; the sense of surrender was a novel experiment in emotion.</p> + +<p>She finished the letter and switched off the light. Darkness was not +going to usher in faces to-night. Her soul felt healed.</p> + +<p>"You absurd darling child!"</p> + +<p>She whispered the words aloud and felt warm tears over-brimming her +eyes. She loved him for his extraordinary callow youth—which had +carried the chaste chivalry of sixteen to the age of twice sixteen; she +loved his little occasional tender gleams of womanliness.… And he +was so easy to mystify and tease. She felt the warmth and the taut +muscles of his arm round her body as he led her home across St. James' +Park, her head on his shoulder, sleeping, secure and forgetful.</p> + +<p>"Dear Eric, I wish you were here now!" she murmured.</p> + +<p>Lord Crawleigh, indignant that Barbara should desert her own party the +first night, but vaguely disquieted that she was ill enough to go to bed +of her own volition, peeped into her room on his way down to dinner. +There was no answer to his jerky, sharp call of "Barbara" and he turned +on the light. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling; he walked to +the bed to make certain that she was not trying any of her tricks on +him.</p> + +<p>"Barbara!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling?"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes, and their drowsy contentment faded away.</p> + +<p>"I only came to see if you were asleep."</p> + +<p>"I'm not—now," she answered wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Well, why don't you <i>get</i> some decent sleep? You racket about and +overtax your strength and excite yourself.… And this is the +result!"</p> + +<p>"I'll do my best, father."</p> + +<p>As he creaked out of the room, she shut her eyes tight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">{129}</a></span> and tried in +despair to woo herself back to the moment of half-consciousness when +Eric drew her cloak across her chest and she roused to ask him sleepily +"Am I coming undressed?"</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>Barbara rang for tea at noon and came down to luncheon in a house which +was gratifyingly demoralized by her absence. Her father had spent Sunday +morning in his study, writing letters; her mother had carried the more +devout members of the party to mass and from mass to a vague, bored +exploration of the garden, where they could be seen scattered on the +lowest terrace, trying to make friends with an unresponsive peacock; the +men, headed by Pentyre, were warmly entrenched round the smoking-room +fire in a blue tobacco-haze and a litter of Sunday papers. George +Oakleigh, in naval uniform, was unashamedly sleeping in a deep +window-embrasure, his mouth open and his eyeglasses on his knees. +Deganway and Carstairs were arguing in subdued tones and seemed as +vacantly uninterested as Pentyre, who had exhausted the <i>feuilleton</i> of +his paper and was studying the advertisements.</p> + +<p>She was pleased by the stir with which her entrance galvanized them into +alertness, by Oakleigh's sympathetic enquiries, even by Deganway's +critical examination of her dress.</p> + +<p>"Well, make the most of me, everybody," she said. "I'm going back to bed +immediately after lunch. What's everybody doing?"</p> + +<p>"I've been asleep," Oakleigh answered contentedly.</p> + +<p>Barbara looked round her and wrinkled her nose.</p> + +<p>"What are you <i>going</i> to do?" she pursued.</p> + +<p>"I should like to go <i>on</i> sleeping.…"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">{130}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come for a walk, Babs," interrupted Pentyre. "It's my last leave——"</p> + +<p>"Then you'd better rest instead of working on my emotions. George, on +the other hand, never gets any exercise at the Admiralty, and, as he's +never been here before, I think I shall take him round the house. +Besides, he hasn't <i>asked</i> me to do anything. Come on, George!"</p> + +<p>Oakleigh rose with sufficient alacrity and accompanied her for an hour +through the ruins of the Abbey, the Elizabethan reconstruction and the +Georgian incrustation. Knowing Barbara, he had secured what he wanted by +pretended indifference, though he was less interested in hall and +refectory, Prior's house and dormitory than in her knowledge of +architecture and early English furniture.</p> + +<p>"Another of my accomplishments," she laughed. "George, what sort of +reputation <i>have</i> I got? A man was so surprised the other day to find +that I could play the piano and sing.…"</p> + +<p>"I know what <i>I</i> think of you," he answered. "Possibly you know it too."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked away abstractedly, as though she had not heard him. Ever +since her illness, George had shewn her a tender devotion; and, when +Sonia Dainton and her other friends had succumbed to the war-epidemic of +marriage, she had fancied that it would be very restful to marry him. +The mood lasted for a week, and it was in this time that she had invited +him to the Abbey. Then a dream, of which she could remember few details, +had shattered the lazy romance which she was weaving; there was a shadow +which she knew would take form as Jack Waring, there was a hint of the +wild oath which she had taken when she was mad; and she had decided that +God was punishing her by opening her eyes to happiness and then throwing +a bar of shadow across her path as she struggled to reach it. Those were +the days when she heard that Jack was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">{131}</a></span> missing, the nights when she +prayed to hear that he was dead. Now that George was at hand, she did +not want him; she might find peace by marrying him, but she would find +nothing more.…</p> + +<p>"Dear George! You think I'm perfect, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Perfection is meant to be more admired than loved."</p> + +<p>"I've nothing but my imperfections to make people love me."</p> + +<p>"That's a woman's way of marrying on her debts.… You're better, +Babs, than when I came to see you in London. I hope you're—happier."</p> + +<p>"Ah, if only I could <i>undo</i>.…"</p> + +<p>She broke off, and George looked at her cautiously to see whether she +was trying him with the pose of conscience-stricken penitent, already a +little out-moded after fourteen months of war.</p> + +<p>"You certainly had your share of scrapes, but there was nothing +discreditable in them. Too much vitality——"</p> + +<p>She spread out her hands, white and transparent in the sun-light.</p> + +<p>"I'd <i>done</i> everything else! Being with father everywhere.… And I +was driven into it by opposition. I must have been a mule in a previous +incarnation. D'you know, if father says he's coming here by the 4.10, I +<i>have</i> to come by the 5.40, however inconvenient it may be to +everybody—just to assert myself?"</p> + +<p>"But that wasn't the only reason," George suggested.</p> + +<p>"What d'you mean?"</p> + +<p>She had ceased to smile, and two faint lines of annoyance were visible +between her eye-brows.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry. It was no business of mine," said George apologetically.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind <i>you</i>. But it was no business of the Deganway creature. +Can't you break his eye-glass or cut a piece<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">{132}</a></span> off the end of his nose, +George? Did he tell you who I came down with?"</p> + +<p>"Deganway is always thorough in his investigations. I'm sorry I +mentioned it; I was only teasing you."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind <i>you</i>," she repeated. "But it does make things so +impossible if father and mother go about fancying.… Come to lunch! +I'll be in time for one meal," she cried, seizing his arm and hurrying +him the length of the echoing refectory.</p> + +<p>At luncheon and recurrently through the afternoon Barbara wondered how +far Deganway's gossiping tongue had already prejudiced her relations +with Eric. If he heard that they were being discussed, he would in all +probability strike an attitude and declare that he could not be a party +to compromising her any longer. At present he was too novel a +distraction for her to spare him easily; already he had become so +important to her life that she had forgotten George Oakleigh and the +thrill of gratitude and elation which she had felt when he began +sluggishly but surely to fall in love with her.</p> + +<p>The house-party had dispersed before she came down next day. Breakfast +in bed was a dull meal, because she had hoped to find an unsolicited +letter from Eric—about anything. She had to wait until the second post, +and that only brought her the briefest possible acceptance of her +invitation. Not until Tuesday did she receive the long letter which he +had written on Saturday night. And the intimacy and tenderness of it +were half spoiled even then, for Lady Crawleigh followed her maid into +the room, enquired affectionately how Barbara was feeling and settled +down to read instructive extracts from <i>The Times</i>.</p> + +<p>Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Crawleigh Abbey seemed suddenly very big +and deserted. Barbara secured a trunk call to Eric's flat on Monday +night; but, after twenty minutes to wonder why she shewed so little +pride and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">{133}</a></span> whether he would be angry with her, a faint voice answered +that Mr. Lane was dining out. Something which she could not analyze told +her that she would be taking an unfair risk with his affection, if she +tried to communicate with him again. She could hardly understand why she +was staying in bed and taking so great care of herself; but it was +Eric's wish, and she had felt a leap at the heart when he interested +himself in her welfare. If he only knew, it would do her much more good +to be with him, to tease him and laugh at him and set him attitudinizing +and then to charm a word or gesture of affection from him … and then +to laugh at him again and see him perplexed and exasperated. She was +very grateful to him for bringing a new interest into her life.…</p> + +<p>Little Val Arden had once said, years before the war, that she would +find her greatest emotion on the day when she lost her heart.…</p> + +<p>But it were useless to fall in love with Eric if she could not make him +return her love.…</p> + +<p>Thursday seemed as far away as the throne of God in that ghastly +nightmare.… She wrote Mrs. Shelley a letter which she hoped would +not read so transparently false as it seemed to her in writing.</p> + +<p>"<i>Dearest Marion, I feel so rude for never having apologized either for +running away myself so early or for dragging Eric Lane away from your +delightful party. I was feeling dreadfully tired. I'm in bed now; in +fact, I've hardly been out of bed since I came here on Saturday, and he +put a pistol to my head and insisted on taking me home. I shall be in +London for one or two nights next week. Will you shew that you forgive +us by inviting us again? Your affectionate Barbara.</i>"</p> + +<p>It seemed a pity not to exploit a good idea to the full, and she next +wrote to her cousin Amy Loring.</p> + +<p>"<i>You said the other day that you had never met Eric<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">{134}</a></span> Lane, though he +was a great friend of Jim's. He was at Margaret Poynter's the other day +when I was there. Would you like me to invite him to dine one night next +week (I shall be up in London for two or three days)? Ring me up between +tea and dinner on Thursday</i>.…"</p> + +<p>There remained Colonel Grayle, who had jerked out, as she left the +"Divorce" with George Oakleigh: "Clever play! Rather like to meet the +author. Decent feller, I believe." If she met him again, she could offer +to bring about a meeting.…</p> + +<p>It was regrettable that she and Eric knew so few people in common.</p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>Before leaving her dentist, Barbara telephoned to remind Eric of his +promise to dine with her. His answering voice was almost audibly guilty, +for the engagement had been allowed to fade from his mind, though his +watchful secretary would have seen to it later that he kept his +appointment.</p> + +<p>When he arrived, the house was eerily dark and deserted. The door was +opened by a girl in a black dress, presumably—from the absence of cap +and apron—Barbara's own maid, and he was conducted through a twilit +hall where the great chandeliers were draped in dusting-sheets, up a +side staircase and over more dusting-sheets to the door of the boudoir. +Here the evidence of desolation ended in vast bowls of autumn roses, a +log fire, blazing electric lights and the beginnings of inevitable +untidiness—ripped envelopes on the floor, a silk cloak in one chair and +gloves in another and, on the hearth-rug, a chinchilla muff with a grey +Persian kitten asleep half inside it.</p> + +<p>Eric knelt down and played with the kitten until the bedroom door opened +and Barbara hurried in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">{135}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Glad to see me, Eric?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"I've—noticed you weren't here," he answered. "You're looking better, +Babs. And I like your kitten."</p> + +<p>"I brought her up to chaperon you," she explained. "Are you going to be +bored, dining alone with me? I warned you what it would be like." She +pointed doubtfully towards a table set for two. "We put the dirty plates +on the floor, and my maid will take them away when she brings coffee. +I've only her and one kitchen-maid to keep me alive. Eric, I've been +looking forward to this most enormously. That was a sweet letter you +wrote me from Lashmar—I love the name! Lashmar Mill-House—You were +very fond of Jack, I could see. Shall we begin?"</p> + +<p>Eric looked at the photograph on the mantel-piece before sitting down.</p> + +<p>"He was the greatest friend I ever had," he answered wistfully. "An +unusual character. If you liked him, he could make you do anything he +pleased.… Did you see much of him? His sister was surprised to find +that you knew him."</p> + +<p>Barbara finished her soup without answering. Then, as Eric took away her +empty plate, she looked up at him with a slight frown of perplexity.</p> + +<p>"Did he never mention me to you?" she asked. "Somehow—I thought you +understood, Eric. Didn't any one else tell you? There are so many +stories about me——"</p> + +<p>"I honestly don't know what you're referring to," said Eric, laying down +his knife and fork in perplexity.</p> + +<p>She looked at him closely with eyebrows raised.</p> + +<p>"When we discussed the photograph, and I asked you to find out anything +you could … Didn't you see that Jack meant a great deal to me?"</p> + +<p>The colour had fled from her cheeks, and she was sitting with head bent +forward, deeply preoccupied with the food on her plate. Gazing blankly +at her, Eric tried to imagine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">{136}</a></span> what kind of intimacy she could have +formed with the elusive celibate who never spoke to women or discussed +them.…</p> + +<p>Something was expected of him.…</p> + +<p>"It never occurred to me," he said lamely. "Of course, Jack never +mentioned a word——"</p> + +<p>"<i>He wouldn't</i>.… Jim knew, but <i>he</i> wouldn't either.… There +was no one else to give me away.… I've always been afraid of saying +something in my sleep.… I want to <i>forget, forget</i>.…"</p> + +<p>The words came out in jerks, with a sobbing struggle for breath between. +Her head was bent so low that she did not see him rise and come round to +her side; a startled shiver passed through her, as he knelt down and put +his arm round her shoulders, drawing her to him until her cheek rested +against his.</p> + +<p>"Babs, dear! Darling Babs!" he whispered. "Don't——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't tell me not to cry, Eric! I've kept it down, I <i>have</i> been +brave, but it's sending me mad!"</p> + +<p>She was sliding limply off the chair, as though her bones had been +broken in company with her pride and resistance. He led her to a sofa +and knelt beside her, sometimes gently chafing her hands, sometimes +drying the slow tears which rolled down her cheeks. Once or twice she +tried to speak, but he hushed her to silence.</p> + +<p>"Darling, you must stop now," he commanded as the tears ceased and she +began to sob drily. "When I said 'Don't——,' I was going to say 'Don't +stop crying, don't mind me; it will do you good.' But you'll make +yourself ill, if you go on." He caught her wrist and gripped it. "Put +your feet up, because I'm going to push the sofa to the fire.… Your +shoulders are frozen.… Now I'm going to bring you the lobster.… And you haven't had anything to drink yet."</p> + +<p>After a single weak protest she entered into the spirit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">{137}</a></span> of his fireside +picnic and by the time that he had seated himself cross-legged on the +floor she was laughing at his apprehensive care in keeping his trousers +from losing their crease. When coffee was brought in, he gave her a +cigarette and raised her hand clumsily to his lips.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry I've been unsympathetic, Babs." There was no answer, and he +could see her staring into the fire with eyes that were covered with a +film of tears. "I <i>didn't</i> understand, I thought you were ill and +over-excited, or I'd have bitten out my tongue before I snubbed you and +told you that you were a nuisance. Will you forgive me?"</p> + +<p>The film of tears gathered into shining drops and rolled mournfully down +her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"As if <i>I</i> had anything to forgive.… You'll never speak to me +again, if I tell you. And if I don't tell you … If I don't tell you, +I could never look you in the eyes."</p> + +<p>Barbara stared at the fire, and for a moment it seemed as though she +were again making confession at the judgement-seat of God.</p> + +<p>"I met Jack two years ago," she began hurriedly. "He'd been saying +things that hurt me, so I arranged to stay with the Pentyres when he was +there and I made him fall in love with me. One night at Ross House he +asked me to marry him. I … I don't defend myself; I'd never dreamed +of marrying him. Even then it wouldn't have been so bad, if I'd told him +the truth, if I'd admitted that I'd led him on to punish him. Instead … +I looked for some excuse which would save <i>my</i> face; I said 'But you +aren't a Catholic, are you?' I never saw him again till my cousin Jim +Loring's ball just before the war.…"</p> + +<p>At the memory of their meeting Barbara shuddered until she could not +speak. There had been no hint of warning; she was in the drawing-room +after dinner when Lady Knightrider's car arrived from Raglan, and Jack +put his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">{138}</a></span> head in at the door to ask if he might have supper with her.</p> + +<p>"I asked him what he'd been doing with himself all the summer," Barbara +went on with a spurt. "He said, 'I've just been received into your +Church.'"</p> + +<p>She paused and stared in terror round the room as though it were +changing under her eyes into the haunted banqueting-hall of Loring +Castle.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't <i>speak</i>.… The music stopped, I heard people clapping, +it went on again. Then there were voices on the stairs, and Jack asked +me again to marry him. I said I couldn't. He wanted to know why. Then … +then I <i>had</i> to tell him I wasn't in love with him. Then he saw +everything."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked up quickly, with her hand to her forehead as though to +ward off a blow. It was then that Jack stared at her, through her, into +her soul; and his eyes had followed her ever since. At first she braced +herself to meet his attack, but it was not the occasion for conventional +recriminations. If a man's soul could be imperilled, she had handed +Jack's over to damnation. God … Hell … Immortal souls.… She +had not believed in them till that moment, but there was always that +eerie hundredth chance that they existed.</p> + +<p>Eerie.…</p> + +<p>Her attention was captured by the word and wandered away in search of a +missing line.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>It's like those eerie stories nurses tell,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of how some actor on a stage played Death,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>With pasteboard crown, sham orb and tinselled dart,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And called himself the monarch of the world;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Then, going in the tire-room afterward,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Because the play was done, to shift himself,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The moment he had shut the closet door,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>By Death himself.</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">{139}</a></span></div></div> + +<p>Jack had sat silent and motionless, too much dazed even to rise and +leave her. There was a sound of more voices in the hall, and Charlie +Framlingham waltzed into the room with Jack Summertown and subsided at a +table by the door. They had hardly begun supper when George Oakleigh +entered to say that war had changed from speculation to probability and +that officers were being mobilized. Then at last Jack roused, and she +had only a moment for making amends.</p> + +<p>"Jack was talking about applying for a commission," she went on. "I went +out on to the terrace, I wanted to <i>think</i>.… It was no good +<i>apologizing</i>.… They got into the car, one after another. I was +still trying to think. Jack came down the steps.… And then I saw +that there was only one reparation I <i>could</i> make; I had to offer myself +to him, even if he hit me in the mouth.… I didn't care about my +vanity now; I called out to him, but the others were making such a +noise.… The car started, I was blinded by the head-lights. When I +could see again, there was only a little pin-point of red light. I +shouted, ran.… Then I came back. When every one else had gone to +bed, I told Jim. And I thought he'd have killed me.… And then I +swore solemnly that Jack should have me if he wanted me. I wrote to him, +and he never answered my letter. I tried to see him. And now …"</p> + +<p>Eric rose and stood by the fire, resting his head on his hand.</p> + +<p>"You offered the only reparation in your power," he said at length.</p> + +<p>"What am I to do?" she asked dizzily. "I want peace! … I told him +that, whatever happened, however long the war went on, I should always +be here, always ready to keep my promise, always prepared to make what +amends I could.… I've dedicated myself. If he's alive, until he +tells me that he rejects me …"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">{140}</a></span></p> + +<p>With a sigh of exhaustion, she slipped forward, turning as she fell and +burying her arms and face. The rose in her hair trembled to the heaving +of her shoulders and scattered a shower of petals over the cushions of +the sofa.</p> + + +<h3>4</h3> + +<p>"And I meant to be so sweet, I meant to make you enjoy yourself until +you thought me quite irresistible," Barbara laughed through her tears, +kneeling upright on the sofa and dabbing at her eyes. "And then I was +going to tell you that I have to come up to my dentist once a week for +about two months; and I shall be all alone and I wanted you to promise +to make me happy—like to-night."</p> + +<p>Her recovery was as sudden as her collapse. Still kneeling with her +hands clasped behind her head, she leaned forward until he had to catch +her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"I don't feel I've made you particularly happy to-night," said Eric, +bending one arm into an angle for her head and throwing the other round +her waist to hold her on to the sofa.</p> + +<p>"I feel as if my spirit were almost clean again.… Will you come and +see me sometimes, Eric?"</p> + +<p>"If you'll go to bed <i>instantly</i>, after leaving a note on the mat to say +that you're not to be called till you ring."</p> + +<p>There was a touch of frost in the air, as Eric walked home; yet he went +slowly, because he wanted to think. Jack was his best friend, and +Barbara had behaved.… He could not abuse the girl even in thought, +after trying to comfort her and saying that she started with a clean +slate. But if any other girl had behaved like that … any girl who +meant nothing to him. Even with Barbara he ought not to be so suavely +forgiving at Jack's expense.… It was impossible to reconcile +loyalty to both of them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">{141}</a></span></p> + +<p>Before going to bed he wrote her a note, inviting her to lunch with him +next day at Claridge's before she went back to Crawleigh Abbey; and, as +soon as she was sure of his mood, Barbara released her invitations; the +quietest possible party with Amy Loring (who was so anxious to meet him +because he had known Jim), two days afterwards a dinner for two in +Berkeley Square, followed by Mrs. O'Rane's house-warming, later still a +decorous and rather dull dinner with Colonel Grayle.</p> + +<p>"You might dine with <i>me</i> for a change," Eric suggested, as he drove her +home at the end of the week. "I'll get my sister to come and keep you in +countenance—she's never seen my flat—and I'll think of another man."</p> + +<p>"I'd sooner dine with you alone, Eric," pleaded Barbara.</p> + +<p>"On first principles I discourage young girls from visiting bachelors in +their rooms. I was born in the 'eighties, and I don't seem to have +caught up."</p> + +<p>"There <i>are</i> restaurants," Barbara suggested. "It's quite fairly +respectable to dine without a chaperon—since the war."</p> + +<p>Eric turned and looked out of the window with a frown. He had not +troubled to tell her that he had lately received a shock which +threatened to make further meetings impossible. During a lull in the +tumult at Mrs. O'Rane's party he had heard Lady Maitland's rumbling +preparations for an introduction. "Eric Lane? My dear Raymond Stornaway, +you mean to say you haven't heard of him? But he's <i>the</i> coming +playwright. You've not seen that thing of his——? My memory's like a +<i>sieve</i>.… You must <i>go</i>." It was very familiar, but, as the other +voices fortuitously grew hushed, he heard a new pendant. "But you know +<i>her</i>? Babs. Babs Neave. Barbara Neave. Now don't pretend you don't know +Lady Barbara Neave! Every one tells me that they're desperately in love +with each other. Of course Crawleigh wouldn't <i>hear</i> of it, but he +doesn't know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">{142}</a></span> what to do. You know what the girl is! If you oppose her.… It's an absurd position. You must come along and meet them. And +I'll arrange a little party. I think you'd be amused."</p> + +<p>"All the restaurants are so crowded nowadays," said Eric.</p> + +<p>"But if you telephone for a table——"</p> + +<p>He was grown too fond of Barbara to provide people like Lady Maitland +with an excuse for saying that he was compromising her; and he was not +going to pave the way for an unpleasant altercation with Lord Crawleigh +(when he would have nothing to say for himself).</p> + +<p>"I'll dine with you, if you like," he suggested.</p> + + +<h3>5</h3> + +<p>On the morning of the day when "The Bomb-Shell" was to be produced, Eric +found his diary overflowing into a new volume. Before snapping the lock +for the last time and burying the book in the little steel safe which he +had had built behind one of the panels in the dining-room, he turned the +pages for ten months, starting with the first night of his first play +and ending with the dress rehearsal of the second. The ten months' +record was so engrossing that he lay in bed, smoking and reading, +instead of ringing for his secretary. One day he had been an unknown +journalist; the next—in a phrase of which he could never tire—he awoke +to find himself famous. Half-forgotten acquaintances who had sent him +cards for dances now invited him to dinners at which he was courted and +instantly handed on. At first he had written down, with more pleasure +than cynicism, the complimentary phrases which had tickled his vanity; +that had soon palled, and the compliments were monotonously framed; +after two months he only recorded such triumphs as when old Farquaharson +in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">{143}</a></span>vited him to call. "<i>I would give much to have written your play; I +would have given anything to write it at your age.</i>" Some day, when +Barbara was in a disparaging mood, he would shew her that jealously +guarded letter.</p> + +<p>An idle whim sent his fingers searching for the Poynter dinner where he +had first met her. Since that night her influence, suspected but never +established, had caused "<i>Dined with Lady Poynter</i>" to be a frequent +entry. Every Thursday he went to Berkeley Square, every Friday Barbara +lunched with him in Ryder Street—after sweeping aside his scruples by +appealing in his presence to her mother for leave to come to his flat +unchaperoned. And for an appreciable part of each week Barbara devoted +herself to arranging further meetings in the houses of their friends.</p> + +<p>"<i>Took Lady B. home late and circuitously.</i>"</p> + +<p>Eric was mildly surprised to find how lately their tropical intimacy had +begun. Two months.… And no one—in court or outside—would believe +the truth.… "<i>Dined with B. in her boudoir, the house being in +curl-papers. She unwontedly communicative, but tired and in need of +rest.</i>" The discreet phrasing gave him all the reminder that he wanted +to construct again the night when she had told him about Jack +Waring—she had indeed been communicative——; and any one who broke +down as she had done presumably stood in need of rest.…</p> + +<p>On that night she had turned herself from an adventure into a habit; in +place of sentimental tilting there had been born a love without passion.…</p> + +<p>He laid aside the diary as the telephone-bell rang.</p> + +<p>"Hullo? Good-morning, Eric. Many happy returns of the day!"</p> + +<p>"But it isn't my birthday."</p> + +<p>"It's our new play, stupid. Are you feeling very nervous?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. If it's going to be a success, it'll <i>be</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">{144}</a></span> a success; +if it's going to be a failure, my feeling nervous won't help things."</p> + +<p>"M'yes. I like you better when you're less philosophical and more human. +I suppose you're simply flooded with telegrams and letters of good +wishes. Darling, I'm so excited! If it doesn't go well—of course, it +isn't a <i>good</i> play; I've never said that, have I?"</p> + +<p>"I sometimes wonder whether you'll ever say that of any play I write," +he laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you <i>will</i> do good work some day. But I thought, after knowing me +all these weeks—well, if it doesn't make the most tremendous hit, I +shall walk quietly out of the theatre and throw myself into the river."</p> + +<p>"I certainly shan't jump in after you."</p> + +<p>"Not even for the advertisement? Would you miss me, Eric?"</p> + +<p>"I'm almost sure to at first," he answered with a laugh. "Babs, I've got +to get up now——"</p> + +<p>"Don't you dare to ring me off, Eric! I want to know about to-night."</p> + +<p>"Scott's at seven."</p> + +<p>"And what dress would you like me to wear?"</p> + +<p>He pondered over the familiar ritual.</p> + +<p>"The one I always call the 'fairy queen,' I think."</p> + +<p>"Well, say 'please.'"</p> + +<p>"'Please.' I must get up now, or I shall be late at the office. +Good-bye, Babs darling."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, sweetheart."</p> + +<p>They dined with unnecessary haste. For all his philosophy, Eric's +nervousness shewed itself in over-frequent consultation of his watch, +and they entered their box before the stalls were half-full. Barbara sat +forward, bowing to friends in the familiar, first-night gathering; but +he preferred to stand at her side, hidden by a curtain, while she called +back the names of the new arrivals. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">{145}</a></span> was a greater ordeal than the +evening when his first play was produced, for he was known now, and the +critics would judge him by the success and standard of the earlier play; +instead of a handful of old colleagues, he was now on nodding terms with +a third of the audience; it was a personal trial, and he did not want to +fail under their eyes; most of all he did not want to fail before +Barbara.</p> + +<p>As the curtain went up, he sat down beside her and, after a quick glance +at the stage, began to inspect the house. Her hand slipped into his, and +he heard a whispered "Cheer up! It's going to be a tremendous success. I +will it to be!" Then his attention went back to the house. Why the devil +couldn't people take the trouble to arrive in time? Pushing their way in +late, blocking the view.… Mrs. Shelley, of all people. He knew her +well enough to speak plainly about it.… The house was very quiet, +very cold; expectant, perhaps, but they ought to be warming now.… A +slip—and another! It was curious that a woman like Mabel Elstree could +go on rehearsing and being pulled up over the same thing again and again +without ever learning—a moderately intelligent woman too—working at +her own job.… The last week had been thrown away.…</p> + +<p>But in all the rehearsals he had never noticed how this opening dragged. +Manders had never criticized it (one of the few things he <i>hadn't</i> tried +to cut about); and it was dragging. In a moment people would be yawning +and talking to one another; the pit would become noisy with its feet; +already there was a rustle; if they would only look at the stage instead +of trying to learn their programmes by heart! They should have done that +before! And still the house was cold.… God in heaven! small blame +to it!</p> + +<p>Eric sat back with tightly shut mouth, then grew suddenly rigid. There +was a single quick laugh, the herald for gusty laughter rising +simultaneously from a dozen dif<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">{146}</a></span>ferent parts; instead of stopping, it +swelled and engulfed the house. Ah, thank God! that sea of vacant, stiff +faces had broken! The house was alive and warm. The players, pausing of +necessity, breathed thanksgiving before returning to dialogue which had +become suddenly imbued with new strength and finish.</p> + +<p>Eric felt Barbara's lips at his ear.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I say I'd will it for you?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"It might go quite well," he answered, unsuccessfully nonchalant. "Every +one's in a good temper now."</p> + +<p>"And you can let go my hand for a minute!" She winced and put one +knuckle into her mouth. "I stood it as long as I could, but you've been +<i>driving</i> my rings into my unhappy finger—All right, darling! kiss the +place to make it well. I could <i>see</i> you weren't enjoying yourself, but +you wanted me to feel it, too. So sweet of you!"</p> + +<p>In the first interval they stayed in the box and allowed themselves to +be seen; during the whole of the second an army of their friends laid +siege to the door with greetings to Barbara and congratulations to Eric. +He would have liked to smoke a cigarette outside with some of his old +colleagues; he would have liked still better to think it all over in +peace. This was going to be a greater success than the first play! And +Barbara, with tears in her eyes, was saying "Come and congratulate us!"</p> + +<p>Eric had little idea who flooded the box during that tempestuous ten +minutes. Lady Maitland was there with an air of having written the play +or at least of having discovered the author. And Gerald Deganway, who +never missed a first night, simpering falsetto congratulations. And +Colonel Waring and Agnes: he remembered them, because he was so much +surprised to see them … and he had wanted to introduce Agnes to +Babs, and there had been no opportunity.… And Colonel Grayle and +Sonia O'Rane, who invited them to come back for supper.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">{147}</a></span> There was +violent reaction after his early nervousness, and he found himself +within an inch of giggling. When the lights were lowered and he had +hurried the last visitors from the box, he sat down and buried his face +in his hands. How long it was he never knew, before Barbara leaned over +him, pulling gently at his arm.</p> + +<p>"Anything wrong?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Come outside," she whispered.</p> + +<p>They walked to a flight of four steps leading through a fire-proof door +to the wings.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going to?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Sit down; it's quiet here. Now listen carefully: there's only about +another twenty minutes, and then they'll want a speech from you. Now, I +won't say a word! Just think out a few sentences; don't try to be +original or clever; just thank them—the usual thing—as conventional as +you can make it." Her solicitous voice trembled and broke. "My own +darling, I am so happy to see you happy! I'm so proud of you! <i>Our</i> +play! Oh, Eric, thank God for you and all your sweetness to me!"</p> + +<p>He looked up with startled eyes, suddenly tired.</p> + +<p>"You're an angel, Babs! But you always give me a guilty conscience, when +you're like this. I think of the things I might have done and haven't; +and I think of the things I have said and done, which I might have +spared you."</p> + +<p>"Well, go on giving me your love! Why <i>you</i> should talk as if you owed +<i>me</i> anything …"</p> + +<p>A moment later he was alone, with the memory of her lips still trembling +on his. He lighted a cigarette and paced up and down the passage, +thinking out his speech. She had left the box-door open, and, as the +curtain fell, he took up his position where he could see the house +applauding. Loud and continuous, gloriously continuous, came the +clapping. The curtain was drawn aside, and the players<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">{148}</a></span> came forward, +one by one. A crescendo of cheers greeted Manders, dying down until he +could utter his smiling six sentences of acknowledgement. Then there was +a pause. The lights were still lowered. Simultaneously in rasping barks +came the call of "Author! Author!"</p> + +<p>Barbara turned her head and blew him a kiss with the finger-tips of both +hands.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I'd better put in an appearance," he drawled, stamping on his +cigarette-end. "Don't be offended if I don't look at you, Babs; you'd +make me forget all I was going to say."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>Affection is the most insidious form of self-indulgence.</i>"—From the +Diary of Eric Lane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">{149}</a></span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_FIVE" id="CHAPTER_FIVE"></a>CHAPTER FIVE<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">MORTMAIN</span></h2> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Farewell! if ever fondest prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For other's weal avail'd on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine will not all be lost in air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But waft thy name beyond the sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though grief and passion there rebel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only know we loved in vain—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I only feel—Farewell!—Farewell!"<br /></span> +</div></div><p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Lord Byron: "Farewell! If ever fondest prayer.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + + + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>"I don't ask you to say it's a good play," Eric observed to Barbara, as +they rumbled slowly home from the O'Ranes' supper-party, "but is it less +bad than the other?"</p> + +<p>Any natural diffidence had evaporated before the memory of the darkened +theatre, the insistent calls of "Author," his effort—while waiting for +the applause to die down—to distinguish faces in the stalls, the +renewed clapping at his speech's end, the <i>levée</i> in their box and the +triumphant supper.</p> + +<p>"I'm too happy to be teased, Eric," she answered, nestling to his side. +"It isn't the great play that you're going to write some day, when +you've learned … and suffered; you still get your women out of +rag-books and toy-shops; but it's very clever, it's a great success and +it's made you happy. That's what matters. Who was the man in the box +that you called 'sir'?"</p> + +<p>"I call most men 'sir,' if they're older than I am."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">{150}</a></span></p> + +<p>"He was with a girl in a grey dress and some rather good pearls."</p> + +<p>Eric thought for a moment and looked at her in some surprise.</p> + +<p>"That was Colonel Waring—Jack's father. The girl was Jack's sister +Agnes."</p> + +<p>Barbara did not answer for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I thought it was <i>him</i> at first," she whispered.</p> + +<p>Since the night of Barbara's confession, Jack's name had never been +mentioned. If he were indeed killed, her memory of him would gradually +wither and die; and it was almost impossible to discuss him without +taking sides and indulging in moral judgements. The Warings had +exhausted every means of getting news and would soon be forced to +presume his death; perhaps they had already done so, but Eric was +avoiding Red Roofs since his discovery that he did not want to marry +Agnes. Amid the turmoil of greetings and congratulations, he had found +time to feel embarrassed by her presence in the box; until Barbara took +the light and colour out of all other women, Agnes had satisfied every +demand. He was embarrassed, too, by seeing the two girls face to face, +watching, measuring and unobtrusively speculating about each other, as +women always did; if there were room for moral judgements, Barbara had +no defence against Jack Waring's sister.</p> + +<p>"She gave me that glass horse-shoe for luck the night my first play was +produced," said Eric irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>"And Jack gave me the counterpart," Barbara sighed. "That's why I wanted +yours to replace it. Instead of which I only broke yours."</p> + +<p>"Well, you haven't broken my luck, as you feared."</p> + +<p>Her shoulder, pressing against his, communicated a shudder. Though three +months had passed without news of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">{151}</a></span> Jack, Barbara could not feel secure +even when she was alone with Eric.</p> + +<p>"Don't boast. You may yet come to curse the day when we met, you may +find I've spoiled your life and broken your luck."</p> + +<p>"Luck?" Eric laughed a little scornfully. The success of the +"Bomb-Shell" ensured that, if he never wrote another line, he would at +least not starve. "When are we going to meet again, Babs?"</p> + +<p>Looking out of the window, she saw that their cab was opposite the Ritz +and that she had three hundred yards more of him.</p> + +<p>"Does it matter?" she asked. "If you're so independent of me?"</p> + +<p>"I can live without peach-brandy, but I like it. If you'll dine with me, +I'll give you some—and all the food you most like. I owe the O'Ranes a +dinner——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we won't have any one else!" she interrupted. Her use of the plural +lost none of its charm by familiarity. "I'll come on Friday, if you +like."</p> + +<p>"On Friday old Ettrick is giving a dinner in my honour at the club. What +about Monday? But I shan't let you come alone; as a matter of fact, I've +invited the O'Ranes for that night."</p> + +<p>"You don't like being alone with me?"</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking solely of what would be said."</p> + +<p>Barbara pouted and sat silent until she could launch an ultimatum as the +cab stopped at her door. The success of his first night was making Eric +masterful; and she wanted to test her power.</p> + +<p>"If I can't dine with you in the way I like …" she began fretfully. +"You only want to shew me off to the O'Ranes.…"</p> + +<p>Eric forgave the petulance because he could see that she was tired. But +he was tired too.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">{152}</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you don't care about the O'Ranes, I'll see if I can get some one +else some other time," he said. "It wouldn't do for you to <i>dine</i> with +me alone."</p> + +<p>"I believe you're in love with Sonia," she rejoined ill-humouredly.</p> + +<p>"What nonsense! … Good-night, Babs. Thanks so much for coming."</p> + +<p>On reaching home, he wrote to invite Mrs. Shelley for Monday. If Barbara +rang him up in the morning, her repentance would be too late; he had +only four arm-chairs in the dining-room.</p> + +<p>There was no call from Barbara in the morning, neither note nor meeting +throughout the day and no call at night. Such a thing had never happened +before; there might be some occult cause of offence; his experience of +Barbara taught Eric that she would cease to sulk when she wanted him; it +was his experience of all women that none repaid a man the trouble of +trying to understand her moods. Thursday was like Wednesday (and he knew +that she was not returning to Crawleigh until Saturday); Friday was like +Thursday—until the evening, when he nervously entered the Thespian Club +as guest of honour. The hall-porter projected himself through the window +of his box and handed Eric a note.</p> + +<p>"<i>All success, dear Eric</i>," he read. "<i>I wish I could be there to hear +you. I shall ring you up to-night, and you must tell me all about it. +Imagine I'm sitting by you, darling, and don't let the speech disappoint +me. B.</i>"</p> + +<p>He thrust the note into his pocket, as Lord Ettrick came forward to +greet him. Congratulations and badinage broke out on all sides; he shook +hands until his arm ached and he gave up trying to count the numbers; it +was enough that he could recognize one face out of three.…</p> + +<p>"You seem to have mobilized half the club," Eric com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">{153}</a></span>mented, looking +with gratification at the growing half-circle by the fire.</p> + +<p>"You're between Gaisford and me," said Ettrick, detaching him for a +cocktail and cigarette at the far end of the room. "I'm proposing your +health, you'll have to reply; and that'll be all the speeches, unless we +sit late. Manders has promised to come as soon as he can get away from +the theatre, and that may start the ball again. By the way, is it +official yet? I haven't seen any announcement."</p> + +<p>"Is <i>what</i> official?"</p> + +<p>"I heard that you were engaged."</p> + +<p>Eric's composure poured out of him, and he felt his mouth growing loose.</p> + +<p>"Where did you hear that?" he asked with an effort.</p> + +<p>"Oh, scores of people have told me. I came to your box rather late the +other night, but I was told that the lady in question had been inviting +every one to congratulate you both."</p> + +<p>For a moment Eric frowned in perplexity; then his face lightened.</p> + +<p>"That was on account of the play," he explained. "She came to one or two +of the rehearsals, and, on the strength of that, it was always 'our +play.' … I say, have you really heard that from many people? She's a +very great friend of mine, and I shouldn't like to feel that our names +were being coupled."</p> + +<p>Lord Ettrick wrinkled his forehead in surprise and shook his head with a +grim smile.</p> + +<p>"Then, my young friend, if that's your ambition, you're not going the +right way about it. I'm too busy by day to go out much at night, but any +time during the last month or two … You know how people talk; and +you're both of you pretty well known." Eric's look of mortification +roused him to a more conciliatory tone. "It's done now, and, if it +doesn't blow over, you'll only have yourself to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">{154}</a></span> thank. I wouldn't have +mentioned the subject, if I thought it was going to spoil your dinner. +But I very nearly congratulated you publicly.… Let's see if we're +all here."</p> + +<p>They returned to the fire, and Ettrick called the roll. Throughout +dinner, when Eric ought to have been thinking over his speech, he sat +dazed by the warning and his own blindness. Six weeks before, Lady +Maitland was proclaiming that he and Barbara were in love with each +other; now a dry stick of a law lord, retiring and uninterested in +gossip, heard of their engagement from a dozen different mouths and was +an inch removed from congratulating him before half the club. Eric might +assume that other eyes had observed him calling for her, shopping with +her; it was accepted that, when they dined in the same house, he should +always take her home; it was almost accepted that one could not be +invited to dine without the other.…</p> + +<p>It hardly lay in his mouth to tell Barbara that she must not compromise +herself.</p> + +<p>A waiter entered with a telegram for Lord Ettrick, which he read and +handed to Eric.</p> + +<p>"<i>Regret confined bed severe chill all success to dinner and +congratulations and best wishes to our distinguished young friend.</i>"</p> + +<p>It was signed by the one absentee, whose chair still stood empty on the +opposite side. Eric suddenly remembered Barbara's note: "<i>Imagine I'm +sitting by you, darling.</i>" As he read it, he wished that he could have +brought her there; in the morning-room he had wished—no, he had thought +how proud he would have been to tell Lord Ettrick that the story was +true. If he could see her now in the empty chair, a rose behind one ear, +a silk shawl broidered with grey birds in flight, as on the evening when +they first met.…</p> + +<p>But she would hardly come dressed as Carmen. And,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">{155}</a></span> however she arrayed +herself, the Thespian Club would not admit her.…</p> + +<p>"Well, have you thought out your speech?" asked Lord Ettrick.</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking about what you said before dinner," Eric answered.</p> + +<p>"Don't take it too seriously. You know how people talk."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I don't want them to talk like that about <i>her</i>! She's the +best friend I've got."</p> + +<p>He hesitated in surprise at his own vehemence.</p> + +<p>"Have you observed one thing?" Lord Ettrick enquired after a pause. +"Neither of us has mentioned the lady's name."</p> + +<p>"Well——"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. Well, if it wasn't necessary for me, who after all don't go +about very much—But you needn't take it to heart."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not," said Eric carelessly. "And, as you said, I shall only +have myself to blame if the story's not scotched here and now."</p> + +<p>"I'll propose the King's health now," said Lord Ettrick, "and then we +can have something to smoke."</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>By the simple standard of applause, Eric achieved a success. Abandoning +his prepared speech, he followed Lord Ettrick's lead, picked up his cues +and surrendered himself to the moment. It was something of a triumph to +amuse others when he was so little amused himself.</p> + +<p>"Not nearly long enough," said Dr. Gaisford, as Eric looked furtively at +the watch on his wrist. He was wondering how soon he could go home and +telephone to Barbara.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">{156}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Shall we go upstairs or sit here?" asked Lord Ettrick. "Manders ought +to be with us in another half-hour."</p> + +<p>Eric remembered with consternation that he would be expected to stay at +least until midnight. There was no escaping it. Five and thirty men, his +friends and entertainers, were preparing for a long, happy session; +their chairs were turned at comfortable angles, they had shuffled and +sorted themselves into congenial groups, each was at the earliest stage +of a long cigar, and they waited on him in turn like an endless series +of deputations.</p> + +<p>"I've discussed the nightly takings of a theatre with Ettrick," he +whispered, when Manders arrived at half-past eleven as vigorous and +high-spirited as if he had just got out of bed; "the Dardanelles +expedition with Gaisford, the plays of Synge with George Oakleigh, 'The +Bomb-Shell' with Vincent Grayle, memories of Jessie Farborough with +Deganway, 'The Bomb-Shell' with Grierson, Ibsen with Harry Greenbank, +and 'The Bomb-Shell' with Donald Butler. I'm worn out!"</p> + +<p>"Stay a bit longer, boy," Manders begged. "I've only just come."</p> + +<p>When at last he escaped, there was no taxi to be had, though Eric told a +waiter to keep the first that drove up. He covered half of the way to +Ryder Street at a run, threw himself on his bed and asked for the +familiar number in Berkeley Square.</p> + +<p>After a long interval a sleepy voice said: "Yes? My dear, you <i>are</i> +late! I've rung you up again and again. I—Eric, I was afraid you were +angry with me for sulking."</p> + +<p>"I say, Babs!" He began earnestly and had no idea how to go on. "Angry +with you? Don't be so ridiculous! I got a very sweet note from you +to-night. Thank you. And I think the speech went down all right. I say, +Babs.…"</p> + +<p>"You're out of breath, sweetheart."</p> + +<p>"I came home in rather a hurry. Can you see me some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">{157}</a></span> time? I suppose +you're going to Crawleigh to-morrow—That's no good. Can you dine with +me on Tuesday?"</p> + +<p>"I wanted you to come here on Tuesday."</p> + +<p>"You never said anything about it. Will you be alone?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not. Eric, will you be honourable? It's my half-birthday; I +always have two a year. I didn't tell you, because I was afraid you'd +rush out and buy me a present. And I couldn't bear to receive anything +more from you. But will you come <i>without</i> a present? I've got a little +party."</p> + +<p>"I should love it. Thank you, Babs. But I want to see you alone."</p> + +<p>She was silent for several moments.</p> + +<p>"You're very mysterious, darling," she said at last.</p> + +<p>"I heard something to-night that rather upset me——"</p> + +<p>"About Jack?"</p> + +<p>A thrill of expectation had come into her voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! It's one of those things that wouldn't matter if we weren't all +congenital idiots."</p> + +<p>"It's not something I've done?"</p> + +<p>"My dear child, no!"</p> + +<p>"Won't you tell me what it is?"</p> + +<p>"I'd rather not on the telephone. I may get a moment on Tuesday; if not, +can you dine with me here the next night?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Alone?</i>" Her laugh mocked him without malice. "I insist on bringing my +kitten."</p> + +<p>He joined in the laugh.</p> + +<p>"You may bring the kitten. I know I'm asking you to do something that I +disapprove of, but I'm rather worried and I must see you alone."</p> + +<p>For three days he explored cautiously to discover how far the Ettrick +story had spread. Saturday brought him a heavy bundle of news-cuttings; +but they were all concerned with "The Bomb-Shell." No one wrote to him, +no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">{158}</a></span> one confronted him with a blunt question, though Ettrick had +protested that the story was common property. When Eric walked to +Berkeley Square for the birthday party, he was embarrassed for the first +time in shaking hands with Lord Crawleigh; sooner or later he would be +summoned to a very unpleasant interview.</p> + +<p>It was obvious at a glance that no one would have private conversation +with Barbara that night. She stood in the drawing-room at the apex of a +triangle with a compact row of parents behind and, supporting them, a +longer row of silent, embarrassed brothers; cousins in every degree +described a circle round the triangle, and in a wider, looser circle +stood people who knew Eric and needed diplomatic handling to hide his +forgetfulness of them.</p> + +<p>"My aunt's parties are like a Derby Day crowd," panted Amy Loring, as an +unseen pianist began to play and they were squeezed into the embrasure +of a window. "I've not had time to see who's here yet. Babs, of course, +looks divine."</p> + +<p>"She looks well in anything," Eric answered. It was dangerous to praise +her even to her own cousin lest one more voice should rise to proclaim +that he was in love with her.</p> + +<p>"You're a great friend of hers, aren't you?" Amy asked. "Some one told +me at tea to-day——"</p> + +<p>Eric became rigid, and she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Mr. Lane, you don't even know what I was going to say!"</p> + +<p>"I think I do."</p> + +<p>"Then you aren't very complimentary to Babs."</p> + +<p>"I feel a certain responsibility towards her."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't mind too much what people say.… You know George +Oakleigh? Well, in the dark ages, when I came out, he and I were very +great friends; we always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">{159}</a></span> have been; I've known him all my life, and his +cousin married my poor brother.… Need I say that <i>quite</i> a number +of people …? If they'd troubled to think for a moment, they might +have remembered that I was a Catholic, but a little thing like that +never occurs to them.… D'you mind my talking to you like this?" she +asked with a smile that sweetened the abruptness of her tone. "When I +introduced the subject, you froze up so——"</p> + +<p>"Can't you understand?" he interrupted. "I'm very fond indeed of +Barbara, but if people talk like this …"</p> + +<p>"Don't mind what people say, Mr. Lane.… I feel we—all the +family—owe you such an enormous debt. No one knows what was the matter +with Babs, but my aunt was really afraid we might lose her. Of course, +she'd led rather a wild and wearing life since she was a child; suddenly +she collapsed. I do feel that you've saved her life, you know; she's the +old, vital, irresistible Babs once more—except that you've taught her +to take care of herself."</p> + +<p>"The position is a little awkward. If people talk, if Lord +Crawleigh——"</p> + +<p>"I think he quite likes you," Amy interrupted.</p> + +<p>Eric bowed and pretended for a moment to listen to the music. It was +common knowledge that Barbara's fortune was forfeit on the day when she +married any one but a Catholic; if he had ever contemplated marrying +her, the fees from the "Divorce" and "The Bomb-Shell" would not keep +them for six months. He wondered whether Amy Loring's embassage had been +inspired.</p> + +<p>"I always feel that Lord Crawleigh condemned the world and then allowed +it to continue existing on day-to-day reprieves," he said.</p> + +<p>"That's rather my uncle's manner. He hasn't insulted you yet? He +<i>will</i>."</p> + +<p>"He's only seen me once by daylight. I fancy he thinks I'm one of the +footmen. If I came to him in any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">{160}</a></span> other capacity … The industrious +ink-slinger, you know——"</p> + +<p>Amy tossed her head impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether you're a genius or not, because I'm not clever +about books and things. But you've made an enormous name for yourself, +you've a big career before you; and, so long as a man's a gentleman—by +which I <i>don't</i> mean what most people do,—I wouldn't let anything stand +in the way—except religion, of course. And I'm afraid that doesn't +count very much with Babs." She lapsed into silence, as though she had +already said too much. "And I know I'm right," she added at length.</p> + +<p>"I daresay you are.… You see, I've never regarded Barbara as +anything but a wonderful friend. We casually dropped into an +extraordinary intimacy——"</p> + +<p>"It's been too easy, too casual!" she cried. "You've taken it as a +matter of course. Neither of you appreciate what you are to the +other—I'm simply speaking from my impression; Babs hasn't said +anything, naturally, and I've hardly had two words with you until +to-night——; if it had been less easy——"</p> + +<p>"If your uncle had forbidden me the house?" he suggested.</p> + +<p>"If either of you were in danger of losing the other … I wonder what +you think of me, talking like this?"</p> + +<p>"I'm grateful."</p> + +<p>The music came to an end, and Gerald Deganway gave imitations of the +various ministers whom he had served as private secretary. Eric looked +across the room and identified Barbara leaning against the piano. She +was better, happier; and he had grown to be very fond of her. So long as +they met daily without marrying, he shirked deciding whether he wanted +to marry her. It would be pleasant to drift; but, when the cloud of +gossip and speculation penetrated into the heart of the Crawleighs' own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">{161}</a></span> +home, a man of honour could not shirk the decision any longer. He could +ask Barbara to marry him; or her father could inspire a paragraph in the +press, admitting the rumour in order to contradict it. Failing that, he +would have to say good-bye to her, though she had become so much a habit +as almost to be part of his life.…</p> + +<p>The imitations were succeeded by more music, and Eric threaded his way +to the piano where Carstairs and Oakleigh were begging Barbara to sing.</p> + +<p>"Honestly, I've no voice to-night," he heard her say.</p> + +<p>As he drew near, she seemed to feel his presence and turned with a quick +smile.</p> + +<p>"Can't you manage one?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps one, if you want me to. What shall it be?"</p> + +<p>"That thing out of '<i>Butterfly</i>,'" Eric suggested.</p> + +<p>"I'll sing it, if you like."</p> + +<p>As Eric sought a chair, Oakleigh looked at him, stroked his chin, sighed +gently and withdrew to the bridge-room as though he could not face +seeing them together.</p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>"I want you to take this seriously," said Eric, when Barbara arrived for +dinner. "Don't try to laugh it off by saying I'm conventional; I <i>know</i> +I am. The fact is, people are beginning to talk about us. I want to +discuss what's to be done."</p> + +<p>His earnestness kept Barbara from smiling, and, as he was worried and +ill at ease, she beckoned him to a place by her side on the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Do you find it so intolerable to have your name joined with mine?" she +asked a little wearily.</p> + +<p>He looked at her in perplexity. Instead of being embarrassed herself or +feeling gratitude that he was em<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">{162}</a></span>barrassed for her reputation, she spoke +as though the gossipers had conferred a favour upon him.</p> + +<p>"If the thing were true, it would be another matter altogether. Subject +to your parents' approval, I think the best thing would be to get a +paragraph into the papers, saying that there's no foundation for the +rumour."</p> + +<p>"But the rumour hasn't got into the papers yet," she objected.</p> + +<p>"I'm meeting it on every hand."</p> + +<p>"But, if I don't mind, why should you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>do</i> mind. I don't like you to be 'talked about.' And I don't +care to have people saying that I'm getting you 'talked about,'" he +added with heat. "You must try to look at this from a man's point of +view. If you were my sister, and some man who had no intention of +marrying you, some man whom you had no intention of marrying——"</p> + +<p>"You've never asked me," she interrupted.</p> + +<p>Eric was shocked into silence. When he was fighting for her reputation, +she was once more the coquette as he remembered her at their first +meeting.</p> + +<p>"I've thought this over, Babs, from every point of view," he went on, +with an effort keeping his temper under her look of slightly bored +amusement. "There are three ways out of the difficulty; the first is +what certain people think the most obvious—that we should make the +story true; the second is that we should contradict it publicly—it's +the easiest thing in the world to do—and the third is that we should +give up seeing each other."</p> + +<p>He stood up with the pretence of warming his hands and fidgeted +restlessly by the fire. Barbara had lost her expression of amusement and +was honestly puzzled that he should make so great a pother about a piece +of idle gossip.</p> + +<p>They remained without speaking until a maid entered to announce dinner.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">{163}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you've been worried," she said gently. "For once it really +wasn't my fault.… I suppose I'm hardened to this sort of thing. Why +don't you just not worry? And give me dinner, because I'm very hungry."</p> + +<p>"I can't leave it like that," said Eric, as he accompanied her to the +dining-room. "A plain statement in the press——"</p> + +<p>"It would simply draw attention to it."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's one of the solutions ruled out."</p> + +<p>"And I'm left with the choice of marrying you—you haven't asked me +<i>yet</i>!—or saying good-bye? There <i>is</i> another alternative, Eric: and +that is to shew you're too sensible to mind what silly people say about +you."</p> + +<p>Eric shook his head obstinately.</p> + +<p>"No good, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"Well, try to think of something else," she sighed. "Don't spoil our +evening, sweetheart."</p> + +<p>The intermittent presence of the maid, rather than any state of mental +satisfaction in Eric, kept the conversation peaceful. He almost forgot +the annoyances of the last week in watching Barbara's delighted +enjoyment of a new experience so trivial as dining with him for the +first time in his own flat. Nothing escaped her curious notice—a wine +that he gave her to try with the scallops, the Lashmar chrysanthemums in +a flat, blue-glass bowl, the unaging pleasure of an invisibly lighted +room, Australian passion-fruit at dessert, a new artist's proof.…</p> + +<p>"You're really like a child at a pantomime, Babs," he laughed, when they +were alone.</p> + +<p>She rose slowly and bent over him, touching his forehead with her lips +and then kneeling beside his chair.</p> + +<p>"I'm interested in everything!" she cried. "I love new experiences! At +least, I <i>did</i>. I loved meeting new people, hearing new things—the +world was so wonderful. And then—I never understood why I went on +living.… <i>You</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">{164}</a></span> made life wonderful for me again. The first night +we met, when I came here.… You were quite right, Eric, I was a +fool.… But somehow I wasn't afraid. I knew you'd put your hand in +the fire for me."</p> + +<p>He stroked her head and gave a sudden shiver. No one would ever know +what path he might have chosen that night out of the maze of his +disordered emotions.</p> + +<p>"In those days you were nothing to me," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"But you put all women on pedestals.… Eric, will you believe me if +I say that I've tried to live up to your conception of me?"</p> + +<p>"But do you know what my conception of you is?"</p> + +<p>"Something a thousand miles higher than I can ever climb! When I'm +restless, lonely, I think of our love, your wonderful devotion—like a +mother's to her child … and my love for you. Give me your cigarette, +Eric."</p> + +<p>Before he could see what she was doing, the glowing end had been pressed +against her hand until it blackened and died. He saw her eyes shut and +her lip whitening as she bit it. Her body swayed and fell forward before +the crumpled cigarette dropped on to the carpet.</p> + +<p>"You little—Babs, what's the matter with you?"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes, breathing quickly and holding out her hand to shew +a vermilion ring with a leprous-white centre.</p> + +<p>"<i>I'd</i> put my hand in the fire for <i>you</i>!" she panted.</p> + +<p>"You little fool!" He was filled with a desire to hurt her for having +hurt herself. "Look here, Barbara.…"</p> + +<p>But she had risen to her feet and was pressing the wounded hand to her +lips.</p> + +<p>"You don't <i>know</i> how it hurt!" she cried with a tremble in her voice.</p> + +<p>"What good, precisely, d'you think you've done?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She snatched a spill from the mantel-piece and thrust it between the +bars of the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">{165}</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you want it again——!"</p> + +<p>Eric dragged her upright with one arm and rang the bell.</p> + +<p>"We'll have coffee in the smoking-room," he said. "Barbara, what's the +matter with you?"</p> + +<p>She laughed almost hysterically.</p> + +<p>"I feel I'm fighting for my life! That was to shew you I'd do anything +in the world you asked me to! And you talk about our giving up meeting … +like giving up smoking!"</p> + +<p>Eric drew a chair to the fire and lighted her cigarette in silence. Only +a fool would break that silence for twenty-four hours.…</p> + +<p>"A bit rash that, isn't it?" he asked, as he cut his cigar.</p> + +<p>"You won't ask me anything that I don't want you to," she answered. "And +you know there are some things I <i>can't</i> give you."</p> + +<p>Coffee was brought in, and he offered her sugar, knowing well—if he had +been able to collect himself—that she never took it. Her cigarette went +out and required another match. A pile of five books, still in their +wrappers, absorbed her.</p> + +<p>It was only half-past ten when she forced a yawn and asked him to get +her a taxi. He collected a coat and hat from the hall and arranged his +muffler elaborately with his back to her.</p> + +<p>"Returning to the other thing," he began slowly. "We've not exactly +disposed of it, have we?"</p> + +<p>"I thought we were going to leave it alone," she answered timidly.</p> + +<p>"That's out of the question." He banged open his opera hat and squeezed +it shut again. "Why won't you have a simple contradiction in the press?" +he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I don't want it. Isn't that enough?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">{166}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Certainly. But … I don't want to say good-bye, if I can help it."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked at him slowly and carefully; she was utterly at fault.</p> + +<p>"It's for you to decide," she said.</p> + +<p>"There doesn't seem to be any alternative."</p> + +<p>She stood up and wrapped a lace scarf round her throat. As he helped her +into her cloak, she looked reflectively round the room. Save that the +windows were closed to shut out the December fog, save that there were +chrysanthemums in place of roses, nothing had changed since the night +when she forced her way in and sipped soda-water from a heavy goblet and +broke the glass horseshoe and laughed and talked and suddenly cried.…</p> + +<p>As he watched, her bones seemed to bend like soft wax, and she sank on +to the sofa, burying her face in her arms and sobbing convulsively. Eric +stood motionless by the fire, because he could not trust himself to +move. Her shoulders, which he had always admired for their line and +wonderful whiteness, rose in quick jerks and subsided with a quiver; she +shook with the abandonment of a bird in its death-spasm.</p> + +<p>"Barbara!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, can't I even cry?" she moaned.</p> + +<p>"Darling, you break my heart when you go on like this!" He found himself +kneeling on the floor with his arm round her shoulder and drawing her +head back until he could kiss her wet cheek. "If you'll shew me <i>any</i> +other way out of it——"</p> + +<p>"Why can't you let it go on?" she wailed.</p> + +<p>"I can't; I suppose I love you too much."</p> + +<p>"Too much to give me the one thing—Eric, you're not going to turn me +away?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to take risks with your reputation."</p> + +<p>"But it would be just the same! If you <i>put</i> your denial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">{167}</a></span> into the +paper, people would still go on talking as long as we went on meeting! +Does it matter? Do you mind it so much, Eric? Oh, my dear, I can't +afford to lose you!"</p> + +<p>She fell away from him, and he walked back to the fire. This, then, was +the moment that came to every man once—the moment that he forced into +the lives of his puppets once a play.</p> + +<p>"Barbara!"</p> + +<p>She was still shaken with sobs.</p> + +<p>"Barbara, are you listening? You said you'd put your hand in the fire +for me. Well, did you mean that?"</p> + +<p>He snapped the question at her, and she was galvanized to drag herself +upright on the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I said that."</p> + +<p>"You'll do anything I ask?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." From the slow-drawn answer he knew that more was coming. "I've +told you everything. I don't belong to myself.… There's one thing +that—that I don't think you're going to ask me."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because you know I trust you. I always have. I always shall. Oh, God +forgive me for the way I've treated you! But it's your fault. Whatever I +did, I should know that I could always trust you and that in time you'd +understand!" A single sob escaped her, and she steadied herself like a +man stopping short at the edge of a precipice. "You've quite made up +your mind? … I must go now. Will you do something for me?"</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Won't <i>you</i> trust <i>me</i>? I don't want you to see me home, that's all. +It'll remind me of too much. Good-bye, Eric. I used to think I didn't +believe in God, but somebody's got to reward you, and I can't. Kiss +me—quickly, or I shall start crying again. Good-bye, Eric! Oh, oh—my +God!"</p> + +<p>She stumbled to the door and twisted blindly at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">{168}</a></span> handle. It was open +before he could help her. A grey wedge of fog thrust itself past her as +she hurried out of the hall.</p> + +<p>"You're not going home alone!" he cried.</p> + +<p>Half-way down the first flight of stairs she turned with arms +outstretched like a figure nailed to a cross.</p> + +<p>"My darling; it's the last thing I shall ever ask you!"</p> + + +<h3>4</h3> + +<p>Eric slept little that night. From eleven till two he walked up and down +his smoking-room, occasionally throwing himself into a chair for very +exhaustion, only to jump up restlessly and resume his aimless pacing. +The fingers of his right hand were yellow from the cigarettes that he +was always lighting and throwing away; the rest of him became stiff and +chilled as the fire died down. "<i>As if I'd murdered her</i>.…" The +phrase, self-coined, repeated itself in his brain even when he was not +thinking of the shaken, nerveless body which he had tried to revive.</p> + +<p>His eyes turned again and again to the telephone. It would take Barbara +ten minutes to walk home, perhaps twenty in the fog; (he was frightened +by the thought of her being alone). By then she might have found +something to suggest.… The telephone could not be more silent if +she were in very truth dead. He sat down at his writing-table and +addressed an envelope to her, but he had nothing to put inside it.</p> + +<p>"<i>As if I'd murdered her.</i>" It made it no easier that Barbara had begged +him not to cast her off; wives sometimes begged men to run away with +them. Until she drove the burning cigarette-end into her hand, crying +out that she was fighting for her life, he had not understood her +passionate need of him; yet, when her need was most passionate, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">{169}</a></span> +was something in her life to which she would subordinate him.… The +proposal had been checked on his lips.</p> + +<p>The telephone was poignantly silent. She would never ring him up again +to tell him her plans for the day, never ramble again through shops and +exhibitions, never again ring him up to bid him good-night. The Thursday +dinner, the Friday luncheon, their notes at the week-end, the sweet +pride of possession, her glorious companionship in his cloistered life +were over. For no one else had he ever taken trouble; now he was thrown +back on an insufficient self. To-morrow or the next day she might have a +headache; never again would she give him a tired smile and say, "Won't +you charm the pain away?"</p> + +<p>"<i>As if I'd murdered her.</i>" Eric crossed the hall to his bedroom. The +front door was still open, and on the mat lay Barbara's scarf. He was +glad of an excuse to postpone undressing and spent five minutes lovingly +packing it in tissue paper for his secretary to carry round. It would be +savagery not to write a note.…</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>Dearest, you left this behind. I hope you didn't take cold +without it. It seems ironical for me to say I'll do anything I can +for you. But it's true. Eric.</i>"</p></div> + +<p>He rose after four hours' sleepless tossing and distracted himself by +drawing cheques until the post was delivered. There were many letters, +but none from Barbara. He read the <i>Times</i>, dictated to his secretary, +handed her the parcel for Berkeley Square and climbed uneasily out of +bed. Though he dawdled over his dressing, there was no telephone call to +reward him; and, as the Crawleighs were spending Christmas in London, he +would not meet her in the train.</p> + +<p>Half-way to Winchester he grew drowsy and fancied himself in his dreams +once more kneeling on the floor be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">{170}</a></span>side the sofa, with his arms round +Barbara's shoulders. "<i>As if I'd murdered her.</i>" His lips were moving, +as he awoke, and he wondered whether the haunting refrain had escaped +him.</p> + +<p>His sister was waiting for him at Winchester, and he greeted her with a +confused affection that struggled to compensate for the pain which he +had brought to Barbara.</p> + +<p>"We were afraid you might be too much in request to come down here," +said Sybil. "Eric, I've been invited to go to a dance in London next +week; I suppose you wouldn't like to chaperon me? Mother does so hate +leaving the country even for one night."</p> + +<p>"Will it be very late? I can't do any work next day, if I don't get a +little sleep. As a matter of fact, haven't chaperons ceased to exist?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I was invited by a man I met at the Warings. He's quite a +nice creature, but I can't dine and go even to a charity ball and dance +with him all night absolutely on my own. Mother wouldn't let me, even if +I wanted to."</p> + +<p>Eric shrank from the prospect of sleepless hours in an overheated room.</p> + +<p>"It's surprising what things <i>are</i> done nowadays," he said without +committing himself.</p> + +<p>"Surprising, yes. But we're rather behind the times in Lashmar. <i>You</i> +wouldn't like me to go alone, would you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not!" If people began gossiping about Sybil and her nameless +admirer as they gossiped about Barbara and himself, he would very soon +drop the young man a plain hint. And he could never make Barbara see +that she wanted him to behave as he would allow no one to behave to his +own sister.… "I'll come if I'm not already booked up."</p> + +<p>As he entered the Mill-House, Eric tried to lose himself in the +atmosphere of a place where he had spent Christmas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">{171}</a></span> for a quarter of a +century. His last night in London haunted him, and it was only by trying +to console his mother for the absence of her two younger boys that he +could avoid thinking of Barbara. There was a busy exchange of presents +after dinner, and next day he accompanied his parents to church, as he +had done for five and twenty years, finding peace and a welcome in the +worm-eaten pew, the cobwebbed window, the top-heavy decorations and the +familiar musty books. The state prayers were invoked therein on behalf +of "Victoria, Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, the Princess of Wales and +all the Royal Family." And there was an old hymnal with a loose binding; +for years Eric had slipped one of the Waverley Novels into its cover to +read during the sermon.… To-day he listened no more to the sermon +than in other years; he wondered what Barbara was doing.…</p> + +<p>After the carols they lingered in the churchyard to greet their friends. +If only she would make up her mind that Jack was dead, there would be no +need for this anguished parting; then, though he had never contemplated +it until a week before, he could ask Barbara to marry him. As yet, +though he wanted her, he had still to find whether he could be content +without her; before marrying, she must subordinate obligation, memory +and conscience to her need of him.… The Warings were waiting at the +lych-gate, and he asked Agnes whether she had any news of Jack.</p> + +<p>"I'll let you know when we have," she answered, shaking her head. "It's +nearly six months now.… I'm just keeping my mind a blank."</p> + +<p>They turned out of the churchyard and walked in silence towards Lashmar +village. For ten years they had always hurried ahead of their parents +for a moment together; and, before anything else, Agnes always thanked +him for her present. This year Eric had given her nothing; it was unfair +to pretend that there was no change of feeling.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">{172}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose you're as busy as ever?" she asked abruptly. "The new play +seems to be a great success."</p> + +<p>"I think it's doing quite well," he assented. "I wish I'd seen more of +you that night, Agnes."</p> + +<p>"There was such a crowd of people; we only put our heads into the box to +congratulate you. Eric, I'd never seen your friend Lady Barbara at close +quarters before; she's—bewitching."</p> + +<p>Without daring to look at her face, Eric tried to discover from Agnes' +tone whether she had chosen or blundered on such a word.</p> + +<p>"She varies," he said judicially. "That night—yes, she was looking her +best then. Sometimes … she's not very strong, you know.…"</p> + +<p>He broke off, thinking of their last night together. They walked as far +as Lashmar Common without speaking, though he knew that his silence +betrayed him.</p> + +<p>At luncheon Sir Francis proposed the health of his absent sons, and the +afternoon passed in lazy talk round the library fire. The smell of the +pine logs filled Eric with old memories; he slipped on to a foot-stool +and sat with his head resting against his mother's knees, drowsy and a +little wistful. He wished that he could go back to a time when life was +less complicated and he could still confide in her.</p> + +<p>"Tired, old boy?" asked Lady Lane, as she stroked his head.</p> + +<p>"No. Only thinking. I can just remember our first Christmas here; there +was a party and a Christmas tree, and I retired to the terrace and had a +stand-up fight with some young friend, and our nurses came and separated +us. A long time ago, mother! Before Sybil was born."</p> + +<p>The girl roused at sound of her name.</p> + +<p>"You're getting frightfully old, Ricky. It's time you married and +settled down."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">{173}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've settled down without marrying. You can't do both, you know."</p> + +<p>The drawl in his voice unconsciously irritated the girl.</p> + +<p>"Marrying and shaking up is more in your line," she retorted. "You're +too successful, too rich, too selfish, Ricky."</p> + +<p>"My dear, I lead my life, and you lead yours. Why should either try to +disturb the other?"</p> + +<p>"Because you lead such a rotten life. Honestly, Ricky, don't you get +sick of gadding about night and day with people who only condescend to +know you because you're a fashion?"</p> + +<p>He smiled lazily at the uncompromising vigour of her criticism.</p> + +<p>"To begin with, I don't do it night and day——"</p> + +<p>"Ricky, you simply live in your Lady Barbara's pocket. Lots of people +have told me. If I were you, I wouldn't let her make a fool of me. After +all, you <i>are</i> somebody. Is she going to marry you?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't asked her. She's a great friend of mine——"</p> + +<p>"H'm. Everybody asks me when you're going to be married. Honestly, they +do, Ricky. Three people this week. That's why I say she's making a fool +of you. I don't think you know how people are talking."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I do, but I didn't know it had spread as far as here," he +sighed.</p> + +<p>"Well, you oughtn't to do it; and she oughtn't either," Sybil declared.</p> + +<p>Eric gazed long into the fire without answering. How on earth had they +come to discuss Babs? He had been dreaming with wistful contentment of +simpler, less embarrassed times when at this hour a red-faced nurse +would enter and carry him, sleepily protesting, to bed. Sybil had +somehow forced the conversation, they had argued—and his father and +mother had listened without taking part, thereby ranging themselves on +Sybil's side or at least admitting that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">{174}</a></span> was telling them nothing +new.… Sybil was a tigress for loyalty! Ever since she had decided +that he was to marry Agnes, she would have mauled and clawed any other +woman who got in the way. And when that woman trifled with the devotion +of a Lane and made a fool of one of the sacred family … No sister +ever imagined that a man could take care of himself. After all, who had +suffered by his tragic intimacy with Barbara?</p> + +<p>"<i>As if I'd murdered her.</i>" What was Babs doing now?</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch and pulled himself, stretching and yawning, to +his feet.</p> + +<p>"I shall go to sleep if I stay here," he said. "Is any one going to +dress?"</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later, when he came out of his bath, Lady Lane was +sitting in his bedroom.</p> + +<p>"I didn't shew you Geoff's last letter," she said. "You'll see he says +something about 'The Bomb-Shell'; one of his friends has been to see it +and liked it very much."</p> + +<p>Eric propped the letter against his looking-glass, as he began to dress.</p> + +<p>"I say, have people down here really been marrying me off?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Lady Lane's face, reflected in the mirror, was passive and incurious.</p> + +<p>"There was some report in one of the papers, I believe," she explained. +"I didn't see it myself."</p> + +<p>He volunteered nothing, and his mother looked indifferently round the +room, now exploring with her foot a shabby place in the carpet, now +rising to hook a sagging length of curtain to its ring. She had come +into his room to receive confidences and to help him; his moodiness did +not invite congratulations and was troubling her.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if I shall <i>ever</i> remember to bring some more shirts down +here," he mused. "I've three, four, five that I'll give you for your +bandage-class."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">{175}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll take them gratefully," she answered. There was a pause in which he +pushed a drawer home, selected a handkerchief and turned off the light +over his dressing-table; in another minute they would be downstairs, and +the opportunity would be gone. She slipped her arm through his and +walked to the door. "There's nothing worrying you, is there, Eric?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I've rather a faculty for letting things worry me," he +laughed. "If one didn't always have to work against time, at high +pressure——"</p> + +<p>His mother was not deceived into thinking that work had anything to do +with his mood.</p> + +<p>"No new worries?" she suggested. "The last month or two … You're not +looking well; that's why I asked. If you ever feel there's anything I +can do …"</p> + +<p>The subject was dismissed as she opened the door. She was glad that she +had given him no opportunity of a denial, for Eric had always told her +the truth, hitherto.</p> + +<p>He went to bed early and fell asleep at once after the restlessness of +the last two nights. When he felt his way back to wakefulness in the +morning, there was a subconscious sense that something important had +happened; a moment later he remembered with a pang that he and Barbara +had said good-bye.</p> + +<p>He jumped up and rang for his shaving-water, though it was not yet +seven. He must find work to do, he must keep himself continuously +occupied; otherwise his brain would go on grinding out that phrase "<i>As +if I'd murdered her</i>."…</p> + + +<h3>5</h3> + +<p>Half-way through the morning a belated postman splashed with expectant +Christmas cheerfulness to the Mill-House and unburdened himself of a +crushed and tattered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">{176}</a></span> load. Eric's share included an envelope addressed +in an unknown writing and marked "Urgent," "By hand." His fingers +trembled when he found a pencilled note from Barbara.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"<i>Christmas Eve.</i> +</p> + +<p>"<i>My scarf has just arrived. Thank you for sending it; I'm sorry to +have been so careless. And I'm afraid I <span class="smcap lowercase">DID</span> catch cold without it. +At least I'm in bed, and the doctor says he's going to keep me +here. I want you, in spite of everything, to come and see me. Come +this afternoon, Eric, before you go down to your people. Just for a +moment. I do want to see you so badly. You won't disappoint me, +will you? I'm ill, Eric, and so very lonely. Please, please come. +Barbara.</i>"</p></div> + +<p>He pocketed the letter and went on with the others, reading them +mechanically. As her note had reached his flat after he had left, no one +could blame him for disregarding her summons; for two days he had been +spared the necessity of deciding whether it had to be disregarded; he +had another twenty-four hours at Lashmar, no telegrams were delivered on +Boxing Day, and she had in fact not telephoned. If the servants had not +stamped and forwarded the letter, he would have had no knowledge of it +until his return to Ryder Street the following day.</p> + +<p>And then?</p> + +<p>The family was still opening parcels and comparing cards and almanacks +in the hall. He filled a pipe and tramped up and down his father's +library, trying to decide this question without losing his head. She was +ill, he had promised to help her, he wanted to help her, he was glad of +any excuse that would spare him a repetition of that waking sense of +loss. So far from having murdered her, he was urged to return; and he +asked nothing better than to go back.</p> + +<p>And then?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">{177}</a></span></p> + +<p>Sybil was right; they ought neither of them to permit such an intimacy, +if nothing were to come of it. Sooner or later there would be +unpleasantness; and, instead of the one painful parting which still +haunted him, there would be two. The position was unchanged from the +time when he invited her to dinner and delivered his ultimatum. He must +leave the letter unanswered; if she appealed again, he must be deaf to +the appeal. There was no need to pretend that he liked his choice. She +might have a chill—or pneumonia; and henceforth he must depend on the +newspapers and on chance-met friends to find how she was and what she +was doing. The friends, too, accepting him as her guardian, would be +more likely to come to him for news; he would have to say that he had +not seen her for a week, a month, six months.… And they would +wonder and gossip about the mysterious estrangement as zealously as +about their "engagement"; and the kinder sort, like Lady Poynter, +instead of scheming to bring them together, would arrange their parties +with a tactful eye to secure that they did not meet.…</p> + +<p>Eric paused to knock out his pipe and to reflect that, as he had made up +his mind, there was nothing to gain by pitying himself or by growing +angry with imaginary disputants. Sir Francis and Sybil came into the +library to begin the day's work; his mother rustled to and fro, giving +her orders. All that he had to do was to find an unoccupied table and +settle down to work. The intimacy was over. In time he might care to +think about it, he might even be able to meet Barbara, but at present he +had to keep his mind absorbed with other thoughts.</p> + +<p>He had schooled himself to a semblance of stoicism when he reached his +office. It was temporarily undermined by a letter, also marked "Urgent," +"By hand," which he found awaiting him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">{178}</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"<i>Christmas Day.</i>" +</p> + +<p>"<i>I suppose you left London before my note arrived. I sent another +and one to Lashmar, but the posts are so bad nowadays that I'm +writing to your office as well. I don't think you told me how long +you were going to be away, but please, I beg you, come and see me +just for a moment when you're back in London. I must see you again, +Eric. If you're not back to-morrow, you will be next day, I'm sure. +Please ring me up the moment you get this. Barbara.</i>"</p></div> + +<p>So she had lain waiting for him all Christmas Day, all Boxing Day; she +was waiting now, and he had no idea how to tell her that he could not +come.</p> + +<p>The telephone rang, and he was surprised to hear Amy Loring's voice +instead of Barbara's.</p> + +<p>"Is that Mr. Lane? Oh, forgive me for disturbing you at your work. I +expect you've heard that poor Babs is ill. Can you get to see her? She'd +like it so much."</p> + +<p>Eric caught himself resolutely shaking his head at the telephone.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it's impossible. I've been away for Christmas, and the work +here——"</p> + +<p>"But can't you manage a moment? Look in on your way home."</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry; it's out of the question." He paused and repeated +lamely, "I'm very sorry."</p> + +<p>Amy sighed and made a last unsuccessful attempt to move him, only +succeeding in reducing him to a state of suppressed irritation which +spoiled his work for the morning. He had meant to call in Ryder Street +before luncheon to collect his letters, but he could not trust himself +to face the appeal which he knew he would find there. It was hard enough +to do the right thing without being incited on all hands <i>not</i> to do +it—and in the name of affection and charity!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">{179}</a></span></p> + +<p>In the afternoon an unfamiliar voice enquired for him by telephone.</p> + +<p>"Lady Crawleigh speaking. Mr. Lane, I want you to do something for me, +if you'll be so kind. Are you engaged this evening?"</p> + +<p>Eric could hardly believe that Barbara had gone the length of appealing +to him through her mother.</p> + +<p>"Well, I have a man dining with me," he improvised tentatively.</p> + +<p>"Oh, can you possibly put him off? I'll tell you why. My husband and I +have to dine out, and that means leaving Babs alone. I'm afraid she's +not a good patient, and, if you could keep her amused, she'd be less +likely to get up or do anything foolish. That's what she's threatening +at present. I feel it's very unfair to ask you to change all your plans.…"</p> + +<p>However unfair, she asked him with an assurance which shewed that she +would not take a refusal lightly. Eric smiled grimly to himself. As if +London was not full of people who would gladly spend half an hour with +Barbara! As if the Crawleighs could not have cancelled their own +engagement! It was transparent, but he smiled less at the artifice than +at the irony of his being dragged to the house against his will and +better judgement.…</p> + +<p>"I'd come, if I could," he answered hesitatingly. "The trouble is that +I've invited this man for eight and I shan't be able to get away from +here till half-past seven at earliest. I'll do my best——"</p> + +<p>"I'm depending on you, Mr. Lane."</p> + +<p>Dinner, but no one to share it with him, had been ordered for a quarter +past eight. He telephoned at seven to say that he might be a little late +and set out for Berkeley Square. Barbara was alone when he arrived, and +he entered her room in some embarrassment. He could not imagine Sybil's +receiving male visitors in her bedroom, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">{180}</a></span> he was shy to find himself +alone with Barbara and to see her lying in a blue silk kimono with the +Persian kitten asleep on a chair by her side and two tables submerged by +Madonna lilies. As he hesitated on the threshold, she smiled wistfully +and at the same time with a certain triumphant confidence in her +setting.</p> + +<p>"I was—very sorry to hear you were ill, Babs," he said.</p> + +<p>"I've waited for you so long! Won't you kiss me, Eric?"</p> + +<p>He picked up the kitten, affecting not to have heard her.</p> + +<p>"What is it? A chill? Your mother said—— No, I don't think she told me +what it was."</p> + +<p>Restraint faltered with every hesitating word, and Barbara pushed the +kitten's cushion on to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, darling," she begged.</p> + +<p>"I must go in a minute," said Eric, gravely consulting his watch.</p> + +<p>"Who have you got dining with you?" He hesitated. "Any one?"</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, I've not. I lied to your mother. You see I didn't +want to meet you, Babs. I didn't want to go through that other night +again."</p> + +<p>He was still standing; but, without noticing, he had drawn nearer to the +bed, and she pulled him gently into the chair.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you missed me, Eric?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Damnably!" His laugh was bitter. "I don't see how it's to be avoided, +though. And we only make things worse by prolonging the agony. The +infernal story's spread to Lashmar now."</p> + +<p>Barbara's lips curled assertively.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you should suffer so much by association with me.… If +you aren't expecting any one, will you dine with me, Eric?"</p> + +<p>He tried to review his position in the moment allowed him before his +answer would begin to seem hesitating.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">{181}</a></span> Once in the house, it mattered +little whether he stayed one hour or three; but they were fools, both of +them, to contrive or assent to his being there. Firmly, if indistinctly, +he felt that she was trying to slip behind the decision of their last +meeting.</p> + +<p>"I'll stay if you like," he said and watched her ring the bell for her +maid. "Babs, are you well enough to talk seriously? I don't want to say +good-bye, but nothing's changed. We've the choice between a public +contradiction——"</p> + +<p>"Or a public engagement? Is that what you're afraid of?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid of it."</p> + +<p>She sank lower in the bed, covering her eyes with her hand.</p> + +<p>"You've never asked me to marry you," she said quietly, this time +without a taunt.</p> + +<p>"You expressly asked me not to."</p> + +<p>"You always—boasted that you weren't in love with me."</p> + +<p>A hint of triumph in her voice made him wonder in fear and disgust +whether this was the way in which she had played with Jack Waring. She +was sweeping him faster than he wanted to go; but, for all his +misgivings, he could not stop.</p> + +<p>"D'you think either of us knew what we meant to the other until these +last three days?" he asked gently. "Everything was too easy before," he +added, remembering Amy's warning.</p> + +<p>Barbara uncovered her eyes and held her arms open to him.</p> + +<p>"I've always loved you, Eric."</p> + +<p>"I've been—very fond of you."</p> + +<p>"And now you want to marry me?" she whispered, and her eyes shone with +expectation.</p> + +<p>"D'you want me to ask you to?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">{182}</a></span></p> + +<p>For a moment she had seemed to speak with passion, but, before he could +notice the transition, he found her only trying on passion's garments.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't," she answered slowly. "I couldn't bear it. You <i>know</i> I'm +not free! But do you want to give me up? You've had a good deal of me +since August and now you've had three days without me. D'you <i>want</i> to +marry me?"</p> + +<p>Eric felt indistinctly that he was no longer the man who had come +reluctantly to the house to do her a favour; yet he had always been able +to bring her to her knees by refusing to meet or write to her; if he put +her need of him to the test, with separation as an alternative, she must +surrender.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," he answered.</p> + +<p>Her hand went up and covered her eyes again. While he waited for her to +speak, his memory flung up, one after another, the moods of loss and +loneliness that he had undergone since the telephone grew silent and no +letter came from her. A warm wave of tenderness swept over him, as he +imagined the glory of having her youth and wit and beauty entrusted to +him.</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, don't ask me that, Eric!" she whispered.</p> + +<p>He looked at her in astonishment, wondering dully what she aimed to +achieve. If he insisted on asking her, she would certainly consent; but +he could not ask her against her will. Suddenly he realized that he knew +nothing of women; some, he had been told, liked to be bullied and +compelled, others were only to be won by yielding and deference.</p> + +<p>"You don't want me to ask you that?"</p> + +<p>"No! For God's sake, no! If anything happens, Eric—you know what I +mean—if I <i>can</i>, then ask me, please ask me! But not now! I should be +miserable and I should make you miserable! Eric, be generous!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">{183}</a></span></p> + +<p>Her fingers were pressed deep into her cheeks, and he could see her +bosom rising and falling.</p> + +<p>"I oughtn't to have started this subject, Babs," he said, coming back to +her side. "If it makes things easier in any way, I'll promise you +solemnly never to ask you that question until you give me leave."</p> + +<p>She opened her arms a second time. This time he leaned forward and +kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, darling!"</p> + +<p>"And now I'm going to give you your beef-tea. What made you talk like +this, Babs?"</p> + +<p>"I wanted to know that you really loved me."</p> + +<p>"You knew that before."</p> + +<p>"I didn't! No, Eric, when you said good-bye that night——"</p> + +<p>Something in his expression stopped her. He had wholly lost sight of +their earlier contention, and it was coming back to him—unsettled.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid things are very much where they were that night," he said.</p> + +<p>"If I don't promise to marry you, you'll leave me? I can't promise, +Eric—yet."</p> + +<p>There seemed a dim, treacherous comfort in the adverb, and he stayed +with her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>Wine and love bring a similar intoxication. You can refuse to begin +drinking, you can refuse to begin falling in love; (and love at first +sight of a woman is as absurd as a morbid craving for drink at first +sight of a bottle). You can trust that you will be able to say in time, +'I can no more.' And then you will find that you only see the +turning-point when you are past it. The world then says without pity or +understanding: 'The man's drunk.'</i>"—From the Diary of Eric Lane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">{184}</a></span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_SIX" id="CHAPTER_SIX"></a>CHAPTER SIX<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">DAME'S SCHOOL EDUCATION</span></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Ann</span>: I can neither take you nor let you go.… You must be a +sentimental old bachelor for my sake.… You won't have a bad +time.… A broken heart is a very pleasant complaint for a man +in London if he has a comfortable income."</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Bernard Shaw: "Man and Superman.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>"I don't know how lately you've seen Eric," said Lady Lane, "but I'm +frightened at the way he's losing weight."</p> + +<p>Dr. Gaisford smiled reassuringly and rang for tea.</p> + +<p>"I've ordered him a complete rest and change for three months."</p> + +<p>"But he won't take it! The head of his department wants him to give a +course of lectures in America, but he won't leave London. If you're more +in his confidence than I am——"</p> + +<p>"Eric pays us both the compliment of thinking us too old to have eyes, +ears or brains—a common delusion among boys in love. No, he's told me +nothing, but he's visibly wearing himself out in adoration of a very +fascinating young woman; so, as <i>he</i> won't go away, she shall. There's +no present cause for alarm."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could think that.… Of course, you must never tell him +that I've been talking to you behind his back."</p> + +<p>The warning was an anticlimax after Lady Lane's desperate remedy of +coming to Wimpole Street and presenting all her fears and suspicions for +the doctor's diagnosis. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">{185}</a></span> a life-time of anxiety and effort she was +hardly more communicative or self-pitying than her son; and Gaisford +divined that more than ordinary compulsion had sent her to him.</p> + +<p>"Speaking as a friend of both parties," he said, "I don't know what the +hitch is. I haven't heard that the parents are making any trouble; and, +if they did, I'm afraid naughty little Barbara would just snap her +fingers at them."</p> + +<p>"You think she's in earnest?" asked Lady Lane doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"I do indeed—knowing something of her; and for the first time in her +life.… I hope it will all come right. In the meantime, she's been +ill and her father doesn't like the way the Government's conducting the +war, so they're shaking off the dust of England for the Riviera. Eric +will have his rest, whether he likes it or not."</p> + +<p>For the first fifteen months of the war Lord Crawleigh had carried out a +campaign, unsparing to his readers, his hearers and himself, to wake +England to a more lively realization of her perils. His position and +long record of public service secured him an undisturbed hearing as he +floundered through the potentialities of Mittel-Europa with the aid of a +lantern and pointer; and his audience was usually rewarded for its +patience when he forsook high politics and set its flesh agreeably +creeping with a peroration compounded equally of German spies and +pro-German ministers. The campaign throve in the south, but slackened in +the midlands and stopped short in the north. At the same time Lord +Crawleigh's prescriptive right to the "leader" page of all daily papers +met with a challenge from certain disrespectful sub-editors who first +mislaid him among foreign telegrams and later buried him ignominiously +in small type. It was when a thoughtful exegesis on "The War and Indian +Home Rule," extending over two columns, had been held up for three days +without acknowledgement, apology<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">{186}</a></span> or explanation, that Lord Crawleigh +decided to teach his countrymen a sharp lesson by withdrawing to the +south of France until the spring.</p> + +<p>Any inducement to leniency was overruled when Barbara succumbed to an +attack of pleurisy. As soon as she was fit to move, he ordered his villa +to be made ready, set the dismantling of his London house in hand, +closed Crawleigh Abbey and carried his wife and daughter to Charing +Cross with a relentlessness and speed which gave their departure the +appearance of an abduction. The pleurisy developed four days after +Christmas, and Eric had not seen Barbara since the night of their +sick-room dinner. A week after they reached the Riviera, he heard a +story, traced without difficulty to Gerald Deganway, that Lord Crawleigh +had spirited Barbara away from the danger of a <i>mésalliance</i>. But, in +wrestling with the necessary evils of life, Eric was finding, as others +had done before him, that Gerald Deganway was the irreducible minimum; +it was of greater importance that for three months no one would have +cause to gossip about them; and by that time even the Warings could not +reasonably hope for tidings of Jack.</p> + +<p>Her departure cleared Eric's mind of its last misgivings and convinced +him that Barbara was no longer a casually pleasant companion but an +urgently needed wife. In her absence, he was thrown back on the bachelor +society of the Thespian Club, though with every meal that he ate there +came a growing dread that he would be absorbed into it until younger +generations, watching him as he pored over the day's bill of fare with +his cronies or grew petulant with the servants, came to regard him as +part of the club's furniture—as part of every club's +furniture—wifeless, childless, friendless and uninterested, a bore who +had outstayed the welcome and even the toleration of a community founded +to keep his like from utter loneliness. Sometimes, as he looked at the +men who would never marry, he won<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">{187}</a></span>dered what would become of him if Jack +Waring appeared suddenly, if Barbara fell in love with some one else, if +she fell out of love as quickly as she had fallen in love.…</p> + +<p>At the end of March a telegram from Folkestone announced her return and +invited him to dine with her.</p> + +<p>Eric walked up the familiar stairs, with the august butler, at whose nod +or frown he had once trembled, turning at intervals to impart +confidences from the advantageous height of an advance stair. ("We" had +only come back the day before and were, on the whole, better for the +change. He was afraid her ladyship would hardly be dressed yet.… If +Mr. Lane did not mind waiting a moment.… There was the evening +paper.…) Eric settled himself with a comfortable sense of +home-coming, his eyes on Barbara's bedroom door, wondering how she would +greet him. Their last dinner together demanded recognition and a subtile +modification of manner.</p> + +<p>"Darling, how are you after all this time?" Barbara was on her knees by +his chair before he realized that she was in the room. "When do you +start? You never said a word about it in your letters."</p> + +<p>He stood up and pulled her gently to her feet. Invitingly she craned her +head forward, offering him her lips.</p> + +<p>"About what?"</p> + +<p>"Your American tour. The <i>Vieux boulevardier</i> said you were going to +deliver a course of lectures in America."</p> + +<p>Common-form invitations had reached him from time to time through his +agent, but, after the first, he had relegated them unread to the +waste-paper basket. And his department was still urging him abroad.</p> + +<p>"I've no intention of going yet awhile," he told her. "It was only a +newspaper rumour; perhaps some day I shall make it true. You remember +that there was another rumour which my mother told me had in fact got +into some provincial rag? Some day that also may be true."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">{188}</a></span></p> + +<p>He lighted a cigarette and looked at her with a faint, enquiring smile.</p> + +<p>"Eric!" she cried with reproachful warning, though he felt that she was +enjoying the thin ice on to which they had glided.</p> + +<p>As a smile dimpled its way into her cheeks, he tired of the badinage.</p> + +<p>"Well, did you have a good time, Babs?" he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Good? M'well.… I travelled the whole way with all the clothes in +the world wrapped round my throat and chest. When I woke up just beyond +Marseilles, it was so hot that I threw off one thing after another, +until I'd got down to a blouse and skirt. Next morning, there was a +glorious hot sun.… I jumped out of bed and ran bare-foot into the +verandah and stood there—don't be shocked, darling!—in my night-gown, +stretching out my arms to gather all the heavenly warmth. I couldn't +have coughed if you'd paid me to. It was divine, but I suddenly +discovered there was one thing wanting. Can you guess what it was?"</p> + +<p>"From your description, most things were wanting."</p> + +<p>"Darling, if you're prosaic, I just shan't talk to you. I discovered +that I wanted some one to share it with. If you <i>knew</i> the glorious +feeling of standing bare-foot on hot marble! I wanted <i>you</i>, Eric! I +always want you when I'm happy, because I must share my happiness with +some one; and I want you when I'm unhappy, because I'm too proud to shew +my unhappiness to any one who doesn't love me. I hate the second-best +and I'm so glad to see you again!"</p> + +<p>Eric considered her with his head on one side and his hands in his +pockets, cautiously and without committing himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">{189}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, Babs, if you <i>don't</i> always have me at hand for all your moods +and all your needs——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>He turned away to knock the ash from his cigarette and to avoid a +possible change of expression in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"My dear, you'll have only yourself to blame."</p> + +<p>"I know. Bless you, dear Eric. Somehow, I was afraid you might have +changed. Thinking of you all those miles away, I felt you were too good +to be true. Let's go down to dinner. You've only got me, I'm afraid. +Will you be bored?"</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose so," he answered, smiling; but, indefinably, he was +disappointed.</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>The Crawleighs spent a month in London before repairing to Hampshire for +the summer.</p> + +<p>"Make the most of me," said Barbara, when her father's decision was made +known. "You may never see me again."</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether you'd mind," Eric mused. "Don't you sometimes feel +that I've served my turn?"</p> + +<p>"That's a horrid thing to say! If anything took you out of my life … +Say you're sorry this very moment!"</p> + +<p>Eric laughingly complied, but he could not easily shake off his +disappointment that Barbara had come back after three months without +nerving herself to make a decision. Though Jack Waring's name was still +never mentioned, he felt that she was increasingly unreasonable in +honouring any superstitious obligation to his memory. A vague, resentful +impatience ruffled the serenity of their meetings; and, though they +plotted to lunch or dine together daily and counted the remaining hours +with jealous con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">{190}</a></span>cern, Eric was shocked to find himself secretly +relieved when Barbara said "Only another week."</p> + +<p>"I've not seen very much of you," he grumbled inconsistently. "Why don't +you dine with me to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>Barbara had undergone some transformation in the last six months until +she seemed hardly to need him. In the old days she was a slave to be +summoned by a clap of the hands; but, since he had healed her spirit, +she was a queen to be courted.</p> + +<p>"I'll come, if you like," she said. "It means throwing over George +Oakleigh. And I haven't seen him since I came back."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't dream of asking you to do that. I've chosen an unfortunate +day. I've chosen rather a lot of unfortunate days lately," he added.</p> + +<p>"Is that very gracious, Eric? I've said I'll come."</p> + +<p>The desire to get his own way and the growing need of her struggled +confusedly with the resolve to be patient and the politic determination +to court her as a queen.</p> + +<p>"No, you keep to your original plan," he advised her; and then, with +thinly-veiled taunt, "It's funny to look back on the old days, when you +were miserable if twelve hours passed without our meeting. D'you +remember when you used to say how much you needed me?"</p> + +<p>"I need you still," she answered, wondering at his new irritability.</p> + +<p>"You got on very comfortably without me at the Cap Martin——"</p> + +<p>"I should have been very uncomfortable if I hadn't known that you were +thinking of me, waiting for me, loving me, even——"</p> + +<p>"And you'll get on very comfortably when you're at Crawleigh Abbey," he +persisted. "And to-morrow——"</p> + +<p>"I've said I'll come to-morrow. Eric, you're not jealous of my dining +with other people? You're talking as if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">{191}</a></span> you were trying to pick a +quarrel. You were always so sweet.…"</p> + +<p>"I'm not conscious of having changed," he answered stiffly.</p> + +<p>But he was conscious of a change in her. While he was still indifferent, +she had prostrated herself before him; when he confessed his love, she +gathered up his own cast robes of indifference. It was feminine nature, +and her "education" of him was at least illustrating the +sex-generalizations which a man ought to have learned before leaving his +dame's-school.</p> + +<p>"Don't let's quarrel, darling!" she begged. "<i>Whatever</i> you ask, I'll +do! But, when I give, I want to give everything. Won't you be patient +with me?"</p> + +<p>Ever since her return to England, Eric's nerves had been strained until +he found it first difficult and then impossible to work or sleep. When +he met her, there was always some trifling cause of annoyance; when he +stayed away, there was hunger and loneliness.</p> + +<p>"I wonder how long you'd like me to be patient," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Before I marry you? Is that what you mean? Eric, I promise in the sight +of God that I'll marry you as soon as I can do it with a good +conscience. You don't want me to be haunted all my life. And now, when +we even speak of it … It's my punishment."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Barbara. I've made you look quite miserable."</p> + +<p>She bent his head forward and kissed him.</p> + +<p>"I've never been <i>really</i> miserable since I knew that you loved me," she +whispered.</p> + +<p>Though the quarrel was composed, the taut nerves were still unrelaxed; +and, after two more nights of insomnia, Eric was driven to consult his +doctor. The examination, with its attendant annoyances of sounding and +questioning,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">{192}</a></span> weighing and measuring, was tiresomely thorough; but at +the end Gaisford could only suggest change of scene and occupation.</p> + +<p>"I'm not a good subject for rest," Eric objected.</p> + +<p>"I'm not sending you into a home," said Gaisford. "Why not go out to +California for six months? You can scribble there as well as anywhere."</p> + +<p>"If I work at all, it ought to be this propaganda job," Eric suggested.</p> + +<p>"Then do your propaganda job elsewhere. I want to get you out of London. +Do you want me to speak frankly? You're seeing much too much of an +exceedingly attractive young woman. If you're going to marry her, marry +her; if not, break away. Flesh and blood can't stand your present life."</p> + +<p>Eric left him without giving a pledge, because he felt too tired for the +effort of going away from Barbara for six months. Since he had reduced +his hours of work, there was no excuse for this everlasting sense of +limp fatigue; granted the fatigue, there was no excuse for his not +sleeping. The doctor had paid curiously little attention to the insomnia +and was childishly interested in making him blow down a tube and +register the cubic capacity of his lungs. There had never been a hint of +phthisis in the family, but the medical profession could be trusted to +recommend six months in California when a man needed only one injection +of morphia to secure a night's sleep.</p> + +<p>He had forgotten Gaisford and his advice when Barbara came to say +good-bye on her last day in London.</p> + +<p>"My dear, have you been ill?" she asked with concern. "I've been told to +use my influence to get you away for a holiday. What's been the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. And Gaisford shouldn't discuss one patient with another. +He wants me to go to California for six months."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">{193}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then you'll go? You <i>must</i> go!" Barbara's eyes were wide with distress. +"I insist!"</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking it over," he answered, a little startled. "I'm not a bit +keen to leave you, Babs."</p> + +<p>"D'you think I'm keen to lose you? Darling Eric, if you know what you +mean to me … But you've got to get well!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know why California should make the—waiting any easier."</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't say <i>I've</i> made you ill! I'll say 'yes' Eric.… Now.… But I should only be able to give you a little piece of myself, I +should always be divided.… I don't think you really want that, and +you'd be simply wretched if you found you'd spoiled my life after saving +it.… Eric, don't hurry me? It's only April. Wait till twelve months +have gone by since the—news. If there's no further news … Wait +till—my birthday!"</p> + +<p>Next morning, Barbara departed to Crawleigh Abbey, and for a month they +did not meet. As spring budded and blossomed into summer, Eric counted +the days that separated him from the fulfilment of her promise. There +was no reason for him to be anxious; but his mind was filled with +nervous images, and imagination suggested a thousand fantastic ways in +which Barbara might be snatched from him. As her birthday drew near, he +forced a meeting with Agnes Waring and once more asked if there was any +news of Jack.</p> + +<p>"Nothing yet," she answered. "A long time, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Very long.…" He hated himself for the hypocrisy of this +conventional solicitude, when he was only impatient for authentic news +that his best friend was dead. "You'll let me know …?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I will, Eric," Agnes answered. "I don't know <i>when</i>——"</p> + +<p>Her undramatic courage, reinforced by his own sense of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">{194}</a></span> make-believe +sympathy, restored him to sincerity. Though he had never been in love +with Agnes—as Barbara had taught him to understand the term—he was +still fond of her.</p> + +<p>"I wish you came to London sometimes," he said, beating his stick +against the side of his boot. "It would make a little bit of a break for +you. Will you let me give you dinner and take you to a play?"</p> + +<p>It was the first time in eight months that he had made her any sign of +affection, and she looked at him curiously. Eric wondered whether she +imagined that he had failed elsewhere and was drifting back to her.</p> + +<p>"Somehow I hardly feel——" she began. "Dick Benyon—you remember we +brought him over to dine with you?—wanted me to come.…"</p> + +<p>"It can't do any <i>harm</i>."</p> + +<p>"It can't do any harm, certainly. I'll talk to mother about it."</p> + +<p>Two days later she wrote to suggest a night, and Eric felt that he had +involuntarily succeeded where young Benyon had failed; a week later he +was waiting for her in the lounge of the Carlton. Though she had +stipulated for a seven o'clock dinner so that they should be in their +places before the curtain went up, half-past seven had struck before she +hurried in with breathless apologies.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, but I'm afraid your cocktail will be tepid," he said. +"I ordered it beforehand to save time. I suppose you couldn't get a +taxi."</p> + +<p>"Yes." She laid her hand on his arm for support and walked with the same +breathlessness into the restaurant. "My head's in a whirl.… I +nearly telephoned to say I couldn't come—but I didn't see what good +that would do. Eric, I want you to straighten this out for me; Jack was +reported missing on the 27th——"</p> + +<p>"Of August. Last year. Yes."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">{195}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, father had a letter from Cranborne's the army bankers, just +before I left this morning, to say that a cheque had come in—through +Holland, I think—dated October the 9th. Apparently a lot of people are +traced in that way, and Cranborne's wanted father to know as soon as +possible. They sent the cheque and asked father to look at it very +carefully and say if <i>he</i> was satisfied that it was Jack's signature; +then they'd know what to do about it or something.…"</p> + +<p>Eric looked at her unwaveringly and bade her finish her story. He tried +to tell himself that he had always expected and discounted this.</p> + +<p>"I brought the cheque with me and had a long talk with one of the +partners. That's why I'm so late. There's no doubt about it, Eric! Mr. +Cranborne—told me—as a banker—that he was prepared to honour the +cheque—is that the phrase?—as being signed <i>by Jack</i>—<i>on</i> that day. +What does it mean, Eric? I want you to explain it all."</p> + +<p>A voluble waiter was gesticulating and seeking instructions about the +wine.</p> + +<p>"Oh, open it now!" Eric exclaimed without turning round. A moment later +the champagne was creaming slowly up his glass. He drained it, coughed +once and collected himself.</p> + +<p>"Let's first hear what Cranborne said," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he had all sorts of theories! That Jack had lost his memory—he +remembered his name all right—; that some one had found the cheque on +his body after the push and altered the date—a cheque for ten pounds—; +that he'd tried to escape, and those brutes had punished him by not +letting us know he was a prisoner.… It doesn't matter, does it, +Eric? He's <i>alive</i>! That's what I want you to say to me! He's <i>alive</i>!"</p> + +<p>"He was alive on the ninth of October," he amended.</p> + +<p>"Weeks after the push? Then he's alive now! <i>Isn't</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">{196}</a></span> he, Eric? He <i>must</i> +be! I was right in believing.… Eric, will you think me an awful +pig, if we waste the tickets to-night? I'd so much, much sooner sit and +talk to you. It's so wonderful! It's like a man rising from the dead! +It's——"</p> + +<p>"You must get some food inside you," he ordered prosaically. "Take your +time. Don't try to tell me all about it in one breath."</p> + +<p>She gulped a mouthful of fish and looked up with brimming eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eric, if you only understood what it meant.…" Her expression +changed to blank fear. "You do <i>believe</i> he's still alive?"</p> + +<p>"I do." He bent down and fumbled for the wine with a needless clatter in +the ice-pail. "Agnes, for your sake, for all your sakes, I'm very, very +glad!"</p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>The next morning Eric called on Dr. Gaisford in Wimpole Street before +going to his office. His brain felt numbed, and he had to speak with +artful choice of words to prevent being tripped up by a stammer. The +doctor looked once at his drawn face and pink eye-lids, then pushed a +chair opposite his own and tidied away his papers.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you <i>have</i> breakfasted, by the way?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm not much of a breakfast-eater," Eric answered. "You must +forgive a very early call, Gaisford; it's so hard for me to get away +during the day. Well, it's the old trouble; I'm sleeping abominably. I +took your wretched medicine, but it didn't have any effect."</p> + +<p>"H'm. You did <i>not</i> take my advice to go right away."</p> + +<p>"It hasn't been practicable so far. I may go—quite soon. But I've a +certain number of things to finish off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">{197}</a></span> and I want to be absolutely at +my best for them." He moistened his lips and repeated "I want to be +absolutely at my best for them. I've been rather worried and I've lost +confidence in myself."</p> + +<p>Gaisford listened to his symptoms, asked a few questions and set about +his examination. At the end he made a note in his card-index and wrote +out a prescription.</p> + +<p>"If you're not careful," he said deliberately, as he blotted it, "you'll +have a bad break-down. Now, I never tell people to do things, when I +know they're going to disobey me; I shan't order you to California +to-day, I shan't knock you off all work. But how soon can you go?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—a week, if I have to," Eric answered carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Then go in a week. Your own work, your writing—can you drop that +absolutely? It's far more exhausting—anything creative—than your +office-work. And what's your minimum for your office? Don't do a stroke +more than the minimum. As regards your general mode of life …"</p> + +<p>He ordained a rigid, but familiar, rule of diet, exercise and rest; and +Eric's attention began to wander. As well bid him add a cubit to his +stature! He wondered how much Gaisford suspected.…</p> + +<p>He became aware, in mid-reverie, that the doctor had finished speaking.</p> + +<p>"And I'm to take this stuff?" Eric tried to read the prescription. +"Strychnine—Is that right? Iron? Bromide? I can't make a guess at the +other things. I say, Gaisford, will this make me sleep?"</p> + +<p>A hint of despair in his voice was not lost on the doctor.</p> + +<p>"I hope so. It will tone up your nervous system. But it's only for a +week, mind! That's the limit of your reprieve before you go away. Don't +imagine that stimulants and sedatives take the place of natural food or +rest. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">{198}</a></span>ever—odds and ends you have to clear up must be cleared up +within the next week."</p> + +<p>Eric nodded and held out his hand. Gaisford had understood, then.… +He wondered how long the medicine would take to "tone up" his nerves, +for he had written a telegram to Barbara the night before, as soon as +Agnes left him.</p> + +<p>He walked to his office, trying to face the position more clearly than +he had been able to do in the night. Why fret and worry? Barbara's +"solemn promise" had already been broken in spirit; if she kept it in +form, she would be haunted by a new memory, the intrusive shadow would +take on a more terrific outline. There was no proof that Jack was alive +… but Eric believed without proof; no certainty that he would +present his claim … but Barbara would see nothing but certainty. Two +allegiances, two promises … and no one could tell which she would +choose.</p> + +<p>Eric was walking blindly through streets which only his feet recognized. +Regency Theatre.… And he had been heading for Whitehall. He would +never go to the Regency again without seeing her—either a head leaning +against his knee at rehearsal as they sat on a platform over the +orchestra, or in their box, hand in hand, as on the first night of "The +Bomb-Shell," when his nerves were jangling like the broken wires of a +harp; he could never go to Mrs. Shelley's house without hearing her +singing Madame Butterfly's song—and without some fool's asking if he +had seen anything of Lady Barbara lately.…</p> + +<p>A telegram was waiting for him, when at last he reached his office: +Barbara would come up that day and dine with him; she hoped that he had +received no bad news.… Eleven o'clock; and he would not see her +until eight. He was too restless to work and at one o'clock he handed +his papers to a colleague and slunk into the street. His foot-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">{199}</a></span>steps +were turned towards the Thespian Club; but he could not pass the +hall-porter without looking for a note, as on the night when he dined in +his triumph with Lord Ettrick; he could not see a page-boy without +expecting to find that Barbara had telephoned to him.…</p> + +<p>Half-way across the Horse Guards' Parade, he encountered George +Oakleigh.</p> + +<p>"Hallo! Come and have some lunch with me, if you've nothing better to +do," he said. "I haven't seen you for a long time."</p> + +<p>"Not since we met at Barbara Neave's," answered Oakleigh. "Where is she? +I've quite lost sight of her."</p> + +<p>"They're all down at Crawleigh," said Eric. Every one <i>would</i> come to +him as the leading authority on Barbara's movements. "What about the +Carlton? I can usually get hold of a table."</p> + +<p>As they entered the lounge, Eric wondered why he had chosen this of all +places. Last night's ordeal should have kept him away for ever; and the +band was playing a waltz which he had heard when Barbara dined with him +on her return from the Cap Martin. Music, especially the seductiveness +of the waltz rhythm, was bad enough at any time when one needed to keep +one's nerves unstimulated.…</p> + +<p>When Oakleigh returned to the Admiralty, Eric stood aimlessly in +Trafalgar Square, wondering what to do. It was too late for a <i>matinée</i>; +and theatres were all becoming reminiscent of Barbara. He had long meant +to order a new dessert-service and was only waiting until Barbara was in +London again. Perhaps, that night, they would be saying good-bye for +ever; he could no longer tell himself stories of the life that he wanted +her to share with him. Perhaps, when she came to choose a +dessert-service, it would be with some one else; she would give to some +one else all that she had given him, all that she had been unable to +give him.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">{200}</a></span></p> + +<p>He was home before he knew that he was even walking homewards and +thankful when his housekeeper came to discuss dinner. He chose a cigar +and at once put it back in the box. His hand was shaking; and, if he +once began to smoke, he would never stop. Stimulants and sedatives, he +must remember, were not the same as natural food and rest; therefore he +had drunk nothing at luncheon, therefore he would not smoke now. There +was nothing that he could do; and Barbara's train did not reach Waterloo +for another hour.…</p> + +<p>His sense of time became dulled: Barbara was standing in the doorway +before he had even thought of dressing.</p> + +<p>"My dear! I expected to find you in bed! How <i>dare</i> you give me such a +fright? When I got your telegram this morning—oh, I'm out of breath! I +ran all the way upstairs!—you'd been saying that you felt so ill! Tell +me what it's all about. I had the most awful difficulty with father +about getting away; he couldn't make out why I always wanted to rush up +to London just when he'd got people staying down there——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to work on your emotions," said Eric, as he helped her +out of her cloak.</p> + +<p>"Sweetheart, <i>whatever</i> I was doing, you know I'd come from the ends of +the earth, if you were ill. But I'm afraid father'll think me a fraud. +It'll be your fault if I can't get away next week."</p> + +<p>Eric had to think for a moment before he recalled that her birthday fell +in the following week. It was the first time that she had referred even +indirectly to it on her own initiative. He looked at her closely, but +her face revealed only high spirits and a radiant pleasure in being with +him again.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to talk over one or two things with you," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">{201}</a></span> explained, "We +shall start fairer if you don't feel you're under any obligation to +me——"</p> + +<p>She caught hold of his hand and kissed it.</p> + +<p>"I shall always feel that, Eric."</p> + +<p>"Well, for to-night I want you to feel quite unembarrassed. I want to +talk to you about Jack Waring. He was reported missing last August."</p> + +<p>Barbara's face grew suddenly grave; and, in a whisper, she supplied the +date.</p> + +<p>"Well, his sister dined with me last n-night——"</p> + +<p>Eric stopped as he caught himself stammering, but Barbara laid her hand +imploringly on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Go on!" she cried. "I can stand it!"</p> + +<p>"They don't know whether he's alive or dead." Her hands were slowly +withdrawn from her cheeks, her face regained its composure, and she +resettled herself, still breathing a little quickly, on the sofa. "They +know nothing," he went on slowly. "But there's reason to suppose that he +wasn't killed at the time when he was reported missing. There's reason +to suppose that he was alive at the beginning of October."</p> + +<p>Still standing with his shoulders leaning against the mantel-piece, Eric +told her slowly and colourlessly of the belated cheque. At the end she +sat watching him in silence. She too, surely, was trying to convince +herself that this was what she had always expected.…</p> + +<p>"That's all I know. That's all his people know," he added.</p> + +<p>"But October.… June.… Why hasn't he written?"</p> + +<p>"You're assuming he's alive. We don't know. He may have been badly +wounded, he may have died of wounds——"</p> + +<p>"But if he was well enough to write a cheque?"</p> + +<p>"I don't pretend to explain it. His sister threshed it all out at the +bank yesterday; she and I threshed it all out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">{202}</a></span> again last night. And +we're none the wiser—except that on the ninth of October he drew, dated +and signed a cheque. I think that's certain. There's no doubt about the +signature, and no one would trouble to forge a cheque for ten pounds.… I always promised to let you know as soon as I had any news, Babs."</p> + +<p>She nodded and pressed her knuckles into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"October to June … instead of August to June," she murmured at +length. "And not a word of any kind. What do his people …?"</p> + +<p>"He'll now be published as 'Previously reported missing, now reported to +be missing and a prisoner.' <i>They</i> don't know what to think any more +than we do."</p> + +<p>She sighed and then looked up to him with a grateful smile.</p> + +<p>"Thank you for telling me, Eric."</p> + +<p>He turned away and moistened his lips.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't forget that it affects my own position," he warned her.</p> + +<p>The smile faded from her face, and she looked at him with startled eyes.</p> + + +<h3>4</h3> + +<p>It was a silent dinner, for Eric was exhausted and Barbara was thinking +deeply. Nearly a year ago, when Jack was first missing, she seemed to +have lived through all these emotions, to have been tossed backwards and +forwards in her dreams like a plaything of the gods at sport. For twelve +months she had been sick with longing to know whether he still wanted +her; and, when the gods had tortured her to madness, they let her think +that the cruel game was over. She dreamed again of happiness, seeing +herself as a child; another child, the very symbol of love and +forgiveness, came to bring her peace, and they played<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">{203}</a></span> together in the +sun-drenched loveliness of a dream. Then the gods flung a shadow before +her feet. In dream after dream her child-lover begged her to stay, but +the shadow parted them and urged her forward. In time she realized that +it was Jack's shadow.…</p> + +<p>Never were dreams more vivid. She knew each note of her lover's voice as +he begged her to stay and let him make her happy; and night after night +she awoke to find herself stifling in the embrace of the shadow. Every +one thought that she was dying; she herself knew that she was being +driven mad; and, when the gods saw that she could bear no more, they +filled the world with a blaze of light which banished dream and shadow.</p> + +<p>"I hoped God had forgotten me," she whispered. "I've been happy too +long. What am I to do, Eric?"</p> + +<p>"You must follow your inclination."</p> + +<p>She sighed and looked away into the shadows beyond the table.</p> + +<p>"My inclination's always to do what you want.… I'm glad for both +our sakes that this came when it did. I couldn't have made you happy +while I was uncertain.…"</p> + +<p>"And, if the war ended to-morrow and Jack came back safe and sound next +week, what then?"</p> + +<p>"It depends on him. I gave him my solemn promise, when I was trying to +make reparation."</p> + +<p>"And I don't count at all. After all our love, you could forget me——"</p> + +<p>"I could never forget you, sweetheart."</p> + +<p>"But—you're willing to <i>try</i>?"</p> + +<p>"What else can I do? Oh, what a muddle I've made of our lives!"</p> + +<p>Eric had determined to be patient and restrained; but his voice, +uncontrolled and scornful, seemed to come from a distance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">{204}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will you make it any better by keeping faith with Jack and breaking it +with me? You'll be unhappy all your life, you'll never forgive yourself, +you'll never forget the wrong you've done me, if you marry any one +else!"</p> + +<p>Barbara's eyes filled with fear.</p> + +<p>"You speak as if you were putting a curse on me!"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe in curses or blessings or luck or your other +superstitions. I'm warning you—and I'll add this. You once undertook my +education, but I think I can teach you one thing, one thing about love: +it has to be whole-hearted.…"</p> + +<p>He flung away and stood with his arm on the mantel-piece, fumbling the +lock of a cigar-cabinet with clumsy fingers. Barbara made no sound, and +after some moments he stole a look at her.</p> + +<p>"I know," she answered quietly.</p> + +<p>"Well——" He hesitated and then took his plunge. "You've got to decide, +Babs."</p> + +<p>"You must wait till we've heard something definite."</p> + +<p>"No! If we heard to-morrow, to-night, in five minutes' time, it would +make no difference. I want the whole of your love, I want to stand +first." He waited, but she said nothing. "You've very often told me how +much you loved me," he went on, ironical at her silence. "You've told me +how you need me, how grateful you are to me, how much you want to make +me happy——"</p> + +<p>He had dropped into unconscious parody, and its technical excellence set +her writhing.</p> + +<p>"<i>Don't</i>, Eric! <i>Please!</i>"</p> + +<p>"You must decide, Babs."</p> + +<p>"<i>No!</i>"</p> + +<p>She buried her face in her hands and sobbed so wildly that he expected +at any moment to see his maid's head at the door. For a while he was +stoically unmoved; then the crying gave him a pain at the heart, and he +stepped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">{205}</a></span> forward, only to pull up before he threw away his victory.</p> + +<p>"Eric, <i>don't</i>," she cried, as soon as she had mastery of her voice.</p> + +<p>"You must decide," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"And if I say 'no'?"</p> + +<p>"I've said you were under no obligation to me."</p> + +<p>"But—you'll turn me away? If I came to you to-morrow and said I'd +changed my mind——"</p> + +<p>"It would be too late."</p> + +<p>She steadied herself and turned round, bending for her gloves and then +drawing herself upright to face him.</p> + +<p>"I … can't … now, Eric.… Is it still raining? If it is, I'd +better have a taxi."</p> + +<p>"I'll see if I can get you one."</p> + +<p>He had seen this gesture before; and Barbara had followed it with a +stream of notes and messages; begging him to come back. Eric walked +slowly into the street, giving her generous time for consideration. A +taxi stood idle at the top of St. James' Street; and, when he returned +with it, she was in the hall, white-faced but collected, turning over +the pages of a review.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Eric," she said quietly. "I'm afraid I've only brought you +unhappiness. And my love doesn't seem much use to any one.… Don't +bother to come down with me."</p> + +<p>He went into the smoking-room and dropped limply onto a sofa, waiting +for the telephone to ring, waiting for her to confess defeat. A hideous +evening—almost as bad as that night before Christmas. His cheeks were +burning, and his head ached savagely. Suddenly his theatrical composure +and stoicism left him; his body trembled, and he was amazed to feel +tears coursing down his cheeks. This, then—he was quite detached about +it—was the nervous break-down which Gaisford had prophesied. He had +not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">{206}</a></span> cried for twenty years … and now he could not stop. His heart +seemed to have broken loose and to be hammering in space, like the +engine of a disabled clock-work toy.</p> + +<p>It was still absurdly early, for their scene had taken place among the +nut-shells and coffee-cups of dinner. There was time for her to come +back, to telephone; she knew by harrowing experience what a parting like +this meant. And, while he waited, he must do something! Perhaps she +would not break silence till the morning. He would see that she did not +wait longer than that.…</p> + +<p>"<i>Darling Babs</i>," he began. A hot tear splashed on to the paper, and he +reached for a fresh sheet. "<i>Darling Babs, It was your choice. I pray +God that you will find greater happiness elsewhere</i>.…"</p> + +<p>He strung sentence to sentence, not knowing what he wrote. Was it not +weakness that he should be writing the first letter? But Barbara was +probably writing to him at this moment, writing or asking for his +number.… The night lift-man was bribed to post the letter, because +Eric dared not leave the telephone. He sat by it trembling as though +with fever, while eleven o'clock struck … and midnight … and one +… and three … and five.…</p> + +<p>In the morning he was called at his usual time—to sink back on to the +bed almost before he had risen from it. While he waited for his +secretary, he telephoned to ask a colleague to shoulder double work for +the day and began to think wearily what other engagements he must break. +In an interlude of their over-night discussion Barbara had asked him to +lunch with her.…</p> + +<p>With a strangely uncontrolled hand he wrote—"<i>I'm afraid I can't +remember what I said in my letter last night. I was feeling too much +upset. Didn't you ask me to lunch with you to-day? I'm afraid I'm +feeling so ill that I've had to stay in bed</i>.…"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">{207}</a></span></p> + +<p>When his secretary arrived, he sent her to Berkeley Square with the +note. While she was gone, his parlour-maid came in with a swaying mass +of White Enchantress carnations and a pencilled note. "<i>May God make you +happier than I've been able to do!</i>"</p> + +<p>Eric tried to divert his thoughts from the note by giving elaborate +instructions about the flowers and his meals for the day. Before he had +done, his secretary returned, and he was still dictating when a sound in +the hall froze his voice and set his heart thumping.</p> + +<p>"I hear Mr. Lane's not well. Do you think he could see me for a moment?"</p> + +<p>"I'll enquire, my lady."</p> + +<p>As Barbara came into the room, Eric saw that her face was grey with +suffering and that she seemed hardly able to keep her heavy lids open.</p> + +<p>"Eric, what's the matter?" she asked, coming to his bedside.</p> + +<p>In trying to speak softly her voice, already hoarse, disappeared +altogether and she rubbed her throat wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with us both?" he asked weakly. "Babs …" His +voice broke. "You look like death!"</p> + +<p>Before she turned her face, he could see that she was biting her lip.</p> + +<p>"Hush, darling child! I'm only tired; I didn't sleep very well. I kept +on remembering that I'd lost some one I loved better than any one in the +world," she cried tremulously.</p> + +<p>He raised himself on his pillows, stretching out hands that twitched.</p> + +<p>"You <i>haven't</i>, Babs! If you want me——"</p> + +<p>"Not at that price, darling. If my love for you were everything—there's +something else. I don't know what it is.… But I've not come to +upset you again. Last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">{208}</a></span> night I told you that I'd come to you from the +ends of the world, if you were ill. Tell me what's the matter, Eric."</p> + +<p>She pulled a chair to the bed and gave him her hand, which he covered +with kisses.</p> + +<p>"I'm broken up! I'm sorry; you can despise me, if you like," he cried. +"I can't afford to lose you, Babs: I love you too much."</p> + +<p>The tears were standing in his eyes, and the sight steadied her. +Pillowing his head on her breast, she ran her fingers through his hair, +caressing and soothing him like a child.</p> + +<p>"<i>I've</i> done this.… You must forgive me, Eric," she whispered. "I +didn't see what I was doing; until quite lately I didn't see that you +cared for me at all—not to matter, I mean—you were always sweet to me, +of course. If I'd known how I was hurting you … Won't you wait, +Eric? I must let you go now, if you insist; I'm nerved up to it.… +But is it worth it?"</p> + +<p>Eric thought over the change that had come upon them since Christmas.</p> + +<p>"No. I can't afford it," he answered wearily.</p> + +<p>She bent down and kissed his forehead. Was the kiss rather mechanical? +Eric lay with his eyes shut, trying to analyze the double change. Was a +nervous break-down always like this? Barbara was stroking his head +gently; she had kissed him compassionately, lovingly, but he had fancied +a change in her, as though she, too, realized the completeness of his +subjugation.</p> + +<p>"See if you can't sleep, Eric," she whispered, as he opened twitching +lids to take stock of her.</p> + +<p>Pity, or some kind of maternal love, then, survived his defeat.…</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">{209}</a></span></p><hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>Average man is a match for average woman, eighteen chances to +eighteen, but zero always turns up in woman's favour. Man, being a +philosopher and far less interested in woman (who is an incident) than +woman is interested in him (who is her life), would cheerfully go on +playing with the odds always slightly against him, if he had a clear +idea of the value and significance of zero. But zero is woman +inexplicable—something fantastically loyal or shiveringly perfidious, +savagely cruel or quixotically self-sacrificing, something that is +primitive, non-moral and resolved to win at all costs. In the +sex-gamble, zero is more than a thirty-six to one chance; it is +Poushkin's <span class="smcap">Dame de Pique</span> and turns up thirty-six times to one. And man +shews his indifference or his greatness of soul by continuing to play, +by rising imperturbably triumphant over zero.… Or perhaps he shews +that he is an eternal sex-amateur.…</i>"—From the Diary of Eric +Lane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">{210}</a></span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_SEVEN" id="CHAPTER_SEVEN"></a>CHAPTER SEVEN<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">EDUCATION FOR THOSE OF RIPER YEARS</span></h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Verily when an author can approve his wife she was deserving of a +better fate."</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Leonard Merrick: "When Love Flies Out o' the Window.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>"After diagnosis," said Dr. Gaisford, "the prudent physician bases +treatment on self-interest. You're not fit to travel by yourself yet, +Eric; when I've patched you up, I shall send you away. If you don't go, +you'll never do any decent work again."</p> + +<p>Having persuaded his patient to stay in bed for a week, the doctor +looked in nightly "for five minutes" and stayed sixty-five, smoking +three disreputable pipes instead of one and generalizing on life and +health.</p> + +<p>"It gives me a headache even to think of work," said Eric, his brain +half-paralyzed with bromide.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the bromide, perhaps it was his nervous and bodily +exhaustion; the most frightening part of this latest illness was the +attendant utter incapacity to make up his mind. When Barbara left him +for Crawleigh Abbey, he had resigned from his department and withdrawn +the resignation, accepted an invitation to lecture in America—and +cancelled the acceptance; every night he led Gaisford through the same +argumentative maze; complete rest, partial rest in London or the +country, flight from England and all association with Barbara, full +work—as soon as he could resume it—to keep him from brooding about +her;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">{211}</a></span> he could not decide. And from time to time a mocking refrain told +him that as an undergraduate and again in the first flush of fame he had +aspired to be the new young Byron, dominating London.…</p> + +<p>"Poisoned rat in a hole," he whispered to himself.…</p> + +<p>Gaisford would sit with his arms crossed over the back of a chair and +his feet twisted round its legs, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe and +frowning at his boots. In a long experience of practice among rich and +self-conscious patients who would always rather be "interesting" than +normal, it was not the first time that he had watched the bloom being +rubbed off love; nine broken engagements and balked romances were born +of doltish delay; but a mass of sensibility like Eric Lane had not the +stamina to wait nor the placidity to go away and forget.</p> + +<p>"You told me you had a novel on the stocks," said Gaisford. "I suppose +you wouldn't let me see it?"</p> + +<p>The first draft of the book was already in type, and, though Eric hated +his work to be seen before he had set the last polish on it, the new +indecision and weakness of will allowed him to be overpersuaded. +Gaisford brought back the manuscript at the end of three days and talked +of neurotic impressionism and the methods of literary jerry-builders.</p> + +<p>"I hope you're not writing yourself out," he added.</p> + +<p>Eric was frightened for the first time since the "Divorce" placed him +beyond the reach of want. So many men seemed capable of one play or +novel—and then no more.</p> + +<p>"One can't always be at concert-pitch," he sighed.</p> + +<p>"Then you mustn't go on to the platform till you are."</p> + +<p>"It's easy to see you've never been a journalist! The agony, the +violence to soul, when you <i>have</i> to come up to scratch, when your copy +<i>has</i> to be delivered by a certain hour! Writing without time to revise +or even to read what you've already written—the compositors setting up +the be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">{212}</a></span>ginning of an article while you're still writing the middle.… And the public pays its twopence and expects us to be always at our +best!"</p> + +<p>"Well, the public pays me its two guineas and expects <i>me</i> to be always +at <i>my</i> best," grunted the doctor. "If I'm off colour, I take things +quietly. Otherwise I should defraud the public and ruin my practice at +the same time. You must take things quietly until you're fit to work +again."</p> + +<p>After he had gone, Eric tried to make up his mind what to do. His +thoughts ran uncontrolled to painters whose sight had become impaired +and composers who had lost their hearing. If <i>he</i> had done violence to +the indefinable blend of gift and acquisition which separated the man +who could write from those who could not … This was a thing to be +tested. The scenario of "The Singing-Bird" was ready; he had only been +waiting because there was no hurry for another play. There was now every +hurry to establish whether he could write a play. If Manders turned up +his nose, it would be time indeed for a holiday.</p> + +<p>For three months Eric buried himself in his flat, only emerging at the +week-end. Lashmar Mill-House gave him proximity to Agnes Waring; and +every week he made an excuse to walk over to Red Roofs and ask for +tidings of Jack. The news that he was alive seemed better than the +suspense of no news; but the tyranny of love was strange when a man +could pray for the death of a friend. The Warings' atmosphere of +dignified expectancy rebuked him; they made no more pother than if a +single letter had gone astray. The colonel motored daily into Winchester +and sat on his tribunal; Mrs. Waring presided over her bandaging +classes, and Agnes looked after the house. There was no fretting at Red +Roofs; the errant letter would come to hand—or it would not; the +Warings were a military fam<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">{213}</a></span>ily. Sharing their suspense for the first +time, Eric marvelled at their composure. His own heart quickened its +beat whenever he asked with false solicitude whether Agnes had tried to +get news through the American or Spanish Embassy, the Prisoners-of-War +Clearing-House in Copenhagen or the Vatican. Peace of mind returned a +step nearer each time that she shook her head and murmured, "Yes, we +tried that. It was no good, though." Then his growing security was +checked by a gripe of conscience; he felt like a murderer who stole +furtively into the woods by night to see whether prowling animal or +pursuing man had disturbed the grave. Well, at least another week had +passed.… But in a week's time he must undergo the suspense again. +Agnes might come to him, radiant as on that night when she dined with +him, crying "Eric! You remember that cheque? Well, we heard to-day.…"</p> + +<p>Extravagant tension and violent relief destroyed the serenity required +for good work; but Eric was not dissatisfied with the progress of his +play. Ease and command had grown reassuringly; his psychology was surer, +perhaps because his own psychological experience had been so much +enriched; and his dialogue, losing nothing of its neatness and economy, +had taken on an added verisimilitude. It was too early to judge +dispassionately; but, as Eric made his last corrections and sent a copy +of the script to Manders, he felt a warmer glow of confidence than +either of his first plays had inspired.</p> + +<p>It was the end of October before he had finished. The strain of work had +buoyed him up, but it was succeeded by a debilitating reaction, which +impelled him with guilty reluctance to Wimpole Street.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you don't even pretend that you've been following my advice," +said the doctor with a hint of impatience, as he brought his examination +to an end.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">{214}</a></span></p> + +<p>"You know, Gaisford, it's not the least use telling me to do nothing," +Eric answered jauntily. "I'm not built that way."</p> + +<p>"So I've heard before—from others as well. And the others have found +themselves packed off to nursing-homes, which, my dear Eric, are very +tedious institutions. Are you going abroad now?"</p> + +<p>"Not at the moment."</p> + +<p>"What <i>are</i> you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going back to my office, if I'm still wanted."</p> + +<p>Gaisford shrugged his shoulders ruefully.</p> + +<p>"You know, Eric, it's a waste of my time and of your money for you to +come to me for advice. You've definitely gone back since I saw you in +the summer."</p> + +<p>"I've been working very hard; but I'm rather pleased with the results."</p> + +<p>"I hope it's nothing like that novel you shewed me," said the doctor +gloomily.</p> + +<p>"I'll send you the script when I get it back from Manders," Eric +promised with a laugh.</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>On his return to official work, Eric found that he could not concentrate +his attention on anything until he knew what Manders thought of "The +Singing-Bird"; sometimes he wondered whether he could ever concentrate +until Barbara had brought his suspense to an end. For three months they +had not met or corresponded.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Gaisford says I simply make you worse," she told him. "I mustn't +add that to my other sins. If you want me, I'm there; but I shan't write +to you, and you mustn't write to me. I shall miss you horribly, but your +health's more important than my happiness. We're coming back to London +in the autumn."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">{215}</a></span></p> + +<p>A week before her return, the whole Mill-House party motored over to Red +Roofs to dine with the Warings. It was an old promise, and Eric was glad +to avail himself of it to break the continuity of his stilted Sunday +calls. As he dressed, a note was brought him from Colonel Waring, and he +read with some surprise:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>I trust you are not going to fail us to-night. There is a matter +on which I want your advice and, perhaps, your help.</i>"</p></div> + +<p>Eric tore the note into small pieces and went on with his dressing, only +frowning at his own want of control when he found his hand shaking until +he could hardly part his hair. There was only one subject on which +anybody at Red Roofs could want to consult him; from the fact that +Colonel Waring wrote—and wrote to him—some official action was +pending; otherwise Agnes would have whispered a word to him before +dinner. They had received news that Jack was alive … or dead … +or they had thought of a new means of getting in touch with him.…</p> + +<p>Eric kept his surprise to himself and drove silently through two miles +of thicket and clearing to the south end of Lashmar Wood. Beyond a +cordial hand-shake and the smiling statement that he was glad to see +him, Colonel Waring vouchsafed no explanation of his letter. Eric looked +keenly at Agnes and her mother, but their faces and manner betrayed +neither elation nor … What else could they betray? he wondered +sinkingly. If Jack were dead, the dinner-party would have been +postponed. They still hoped for him, but their hopes were not hardy +enough to be exposed.</p> + +<p>When the men were alone after dinner, Eric's heart missed a beat and he +gripped the arms of his chair. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">{216}</a></span> colonel, after fidgeting with a +decanter and tidying away the remains of two different conversations, +carried his glass to Eric's end of the table and sat beside him, asking +with a smile whether his note had been delivered in time.</p> + +<p>"This is between ourselves," he began, leaning back with his legs +stretched out and frowning at the blue flame of a grenade-shaped +cigar-lighter. "We've had news of a kind about Jack." He raised his hand +as Eric tried to speak. "No, my dear boy, that's just what we want to +avoid! Don't congratulate us—<i>yet</i>. You see, we've been through the +racket once.…"</p> + +<p>"You don't know for certain, then?" Eric asked and wondered whether he +was imagining a tremor in his voice.</p> + +<p>"No. Let me see, Agnes told you all about the cheque, didn't she? He was +missing in August last year, and the cheque was drawn in October. We now +know that he was alive in December. It appears …"</p> + +<p>Eric did not hear the next few sentences. Stoically, yet with an +underlying measured jubilance, the old colonel was dragging Jack to +security from the presumption of death two months at a time. Alive in +October, alive in December! Thirteen months ago, eleven months ago. Some +one would have heard of him in February or seen him in April! He was +catching up hand over fist. And one day he would land in England, you +would meet him in the street without warning; as you dawdled through +Berkeley Square, you might see him standing on the door-step of Lord +Crawleigh's house.</p> + +<p>"I don't for one moment suppose that this is the only case." Colonel +Waring was commenting.</p> + +<p>Eric looked up with an intelligent nod, wondering what he had been told. +Waring, always soldierly and dapper, with a neat care of person which he +had handed on to his children, seemed years fresher and younger +to-night; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">{217}</a></span> liverish tinge of yellow which settled on his face in +cold weather had wholly departed.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind giving me the dates again?" said Eric.</p> + +<p>"Missing in August; the cheque in October; the row in December. This +fellow Britwell" (Eric wished that he had listened to find out who was +Britwell) "was taken prisoner at the same time, and they were in the +same prisoner's camp. Britwell couldn't say how badly Jack was wounded, +because he'd been in hospital himself until the day before the row came. +Jack, according to the story, was hauled up for calling one of the +guards a 'Schweinhund.' (You know Jack well enough to say if he'd be +likely to fling about abuse of that kind without provocation). His only +defence was that the guard had told him—in German—to do something, and +almost the only German he knew was that word, because they'd shouted it +at him when they found him half-unconscious in his trench and kicked him +back behind the lines, and the women and children had screamed it at +him, in the intervals of spitting in his face at all the stations. And +it was the one word that all the camp guards used to every British +prisoner. Well, he may have been given the opportunity of apologizing or +he may not; if so, he refused it, and the last thing Britwell heard was +that he'd been packed off to solitary confinement in a fortress for nine +months. December '15 … to September or October this year. That +explains the cheque, but it doesn't explain why he hasn't written.… +Of course, he hasn't had much time.…"</p> + +<p>The stoicism in Waring's composed face became eclipsed for a moment. The +boy might have died of his wounds or of ill-treatment; he might have +offended a second time and been a second time imprisoned without power +to communicate with his friends; he might have been transferred to +another camp with an unrelaxing ban on all his letters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">{218}</a></span> lest he tried to +describe the barbarism of which he had been made a victim.…</p> + +<p>"I've got that straight so far," said Eric slowly, "Now tell me what I +can do."</p> + +<p>If the worst came to the worst, he would at least try to surrender his +claim on Barbara with a good grace.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's the old business: we want news," said Waring. "I tried the +War Office as soon as I heard from Britwell, which was a week ago; he's +been transferred to Switzerland as one of the badly wounded cases. You +know what the War Office is; I may be fed with printed forms for months.… Do you know anybody there who can take up the thing personally?"</p> + +<p>"If I don't know any one, I can soon <i>get</i> to know the right man."</p> + +<p>"We shall be very grateful. Meanwhile don't talk about it—to anybody."</p> + +<p>Eric refrained from giving a promise, for he knew that he would have to +tell Barbara the following week. Within three hours of his return to +London he had set half-a-dozen telephone wires humming, and, before +leaving his department, the newly-found freemasonry of the public +service had supplied him with all available information. Officially, +Captain Waring was "missing;" but his name had not been reported from +any German source; unofficially, the War Office had a copy of Major +Britwell's letter to Colonel Waring. Nothing more was known. On the +other hand, a great deal of new information was pouring in since the +convention for the exchange of wounded prisoners. If Captain Waring were +incapacitated and if the official German conscience were not too uneasy, +he might have the luck to be transferred to Switzerland at any moment.</p> + +<p>Eric sent a report to Colonel Waring and wrote to Barbara that night for +the first time in three months. "<i>I want you to know as soon as possible +that Jack was alive last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">{219}</a></span> December. That's eleven months ago, and he may +be alive still; the family simply doesn't know. I'll tell you the full +story when we meet.</i>"</p> + +<p>In thanking him, she suggested a night for dining together on her +return; and Eric spent three days that were as restless and +insupportable as the three hours before a first night. It would hurt +intolerably if she behaved as a stranger, when they met; almost as +intolerably if she threw herself into his arms—and forced him to +remember what he was threatened with losing.</p> + +<p>On the evening before they were to meet, the telephone rang, and +Manders' voice, brisk and cheerful, enquired if Eric was likely to be at +the Thespian Club that night.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to talk about this play of yours," he explained. "Well, can +you lunch to-morrow, say, half-past one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I should like to. What do you think of it, Manders?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"It's too long to discuss now."</p> + +<p>"You can just say whether you like it or not."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. Cheerio, boy."</p> + +<p>Eric was irritated by Manders' uncommunicativeness. The fellow could at +least have said, "First rate!" or "The best thing you've done." "Too +long to discuss now" meant hours of captiousness and months of heroic +surgery. And with his late loss of assurance Eric could not say with +confidence that it <i>was</i> the best thing he had done.…</p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>When he reached the club next day, Eric found that Manders had arrived +before him and was ordering luncheon for both.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">{220}</a></span></p> + +<p>"D'you like the '06 Ruinart, or is it too dry for you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing's too dry for me," Eric answered, "but I decline to drink +champagne at lunch. I've work to do this afternoon."</p> + +<p>His host smiled persuasively and continued to write his bill.</p> + +<p>"It'll do you good, boy. Buck you up. Well, how are you? The last time I +was here, some old buffer told me you'd been seedy, but that was right +away back in the summer. What was the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I was only a bit run down," Eric answered. "What did you think of the +play?"</p> + +<p>Manders gave his bill to a waiter and planted his elbows on the table, +pressing his finger-tips together.</p> + +<p>"Well, I read it very carefully," he began. "By the way, before I forget +it, 'The Bomb-Shell's' doing very well on tour."</p> + +<p>Eric chewed his lips impatiently. He would gladly hear about "The +Bomb-Shell" later, but he now wanted to pin Manders to a criticism of +"The Singing Bird."</p> + +<p>"Well, let's keep the wolf from the door as long as we can."</p> + +<p>The subject dismissed, he looked up expectantly and found Manders wholly +absorbed with his oysters, rejecting red pepper for black, shaking a +cautious drop of tabasco vinegar on each, adding a dash of lemon-juice +and, when all else was ready, sipping his champagne with preliminary +caution. The play would have to be cut about, then; perhaps the +actor-manager was disappointed with his own part.…</p> + +<p>"Well, let's hear all about it," Manders began heartily. "When did you +find time to write it? After you'd got 'The Bomb-Shell' out of the way?"</p> + +<p>"Not immediately. I knocked off all my other work and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">{221}</a></span> concentrated on +this thing day and night for three months."</p> + +<p>"Three months? You're a quick worker. You know, boy, that would have +been a better play if you'd given more time to it."</p> + +<p>Manders slipped three oysters into his mouth in rapid succession, and +Eric smiled with indulgent patience. One hard-dying school of critics +always made quick work a synonym for hasty work.</p> + +<p>"I managed to crowd about three years into the three months."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that means you're writing with your nerves! Now, if I were you, I'd +put the thing aside for six months, clear it out of your head; then, +when you come to it with a fresh mind——"</p> + +<p>"You don't like it?" Eric interrupted. "Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't like it in its present form. I don't suppose you want a +line-by-line criticism.… If you look at it in six months' time, +you'll see my objection for yourself."</p> + +<p>Eric raised his glass mechanically and was vaguely surprised to find +himself drinking champagne. Then he remembered that champagne had been +ordered to "buck" him "up"; he remembered, too, Manders' solicitude for +his health, the enquiries when the play had been written and how long he +had taken to write it, the evasion and silence the night before on the +telephone and again at the beginning of luncheon, when he tried to +extract a frank opinion.… Manders, then, was rejecting the play … +and trying to be considerate.…</p> + +<p>"We don't mince matters at rehearsal," he said with a breathless laugh. +"You think the play's hopeless?"</p> + +<p>Manders looked relieved, but he had known so many disappointments +himself and seen others so often crushed by them that his brown, monkey +eyes were full of pity.</p> + +<p>"It's no use at all. In its present form or any other. If it had been +any one but you, I wouldn't have read two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">{222}</a></span> pages of it. You may as well +take the whole of your physic, boy; you've got to stop writing for the +present, you've lost your sense of the theatre, you're forgetting all +the tricks you ever learned. D'you know, when I read that thing, I +thought for a moment that you were trying to palm off some old thing +that you'd written when you were an undergrad?"</p> + +<p>For a moment Eric lost his sense of distance; the long coffee-room was +full of shouting and discordant laughter; a waiter, who seemed quite +near, asked in a remote voice whether he might take the black pepper.… +Eric gripped the edge of the table, praying that he might not +disgrace himself.</p> + +<p>"I wonder—<i>why</i>," he murmured faintly.</p> + +<p>Manders shrugged his shoulders and filled both glasses encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"It often happens. Graham Lever had three plays running in London at the +same time; then he chucked romantic comedy and tried to write a +revolt-of-the-younger-generation problem play.…" Manders omitted to +add that Lever had never had another play staged, but Eric's ten years +of dramatic criticism enabled him to fill the gap. "George Sharpe failed +again and again for eight years; he had one success and then failed for +three. It would be hard to think of a man who never loses his touch. +Partly it's the author and partly it's the audience; they get tired … +and, when one kind of play succeeds, all the other men unconsciously +imitate, and the managers can only see money in that one kind, so that +the public gets sated. With you …" He paused to tear his bread into +lumps and throw it into his soup. "You probably want some fresh air. +You've been living in the theatre too much, you've forgotten what real +people are like. If you brought that play down and read it to the +company——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">{223}</a></span></p> + +<p>His aposiopesis suggested that there would be uproar and danger to life.</p> + +<p>"What had I better do?" Eric asked weakly.</p> + +<p>"Frankly? Well, scrap your 'Singing Bird' and throw your pen behind the +fire. Don't try to write for six months. After that, anything you like +to send me … I hope you can eat this, by the way?"</p> + +<p>Eric found that a sole, half-hidden by mussels, had been placed before +him. Manders had taken trouble about the luncheon; he was a good fellow +and had tried to soften the blow; throughout the time that they had +worked together he had been patient and very human; he was trying to +part now on a pleasant note. "Anything you like to send me …" It +would certainly be read; for a time he would read it himself—the next +three failures, say. And then … Eric wondered whether he would be +able to go back to journalism. The two successful plays would keep him +from starving, but he must make a livelihood again … and count every +shilling before he spent it. The flat must go.…</p> + +<p>The long triumphal progress which he had enjoyed and disdained rose up +in accusing mockery. Here, then, was the end of that life-long dream of +domination. For a time Lady Poynter would invite him to her house and +ask when the next play was coming out, but her nature and the +requirements of her sham-intellectual life demanded that she should drop +him when he no longer had any tricks to display. Young Forbes Standish +or Carlton Haig—"most promising young playwrights"—would take his +place. Perhaps some one like George Oakleigh, who liked him personally, +would ask what had become of him; and Lady Poynter would answer easily: +"I haven't seen him for a long time. I must find out whether he's in +London and get him to lunch one day." And then young Forbes Standish +would begin to criticize "The Bomb-Shell" or the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">{224}</a></span> "Divorce" with bland +patronage. And every one at the Thespian would be tactful and +considerate.</p> + +<p>"I feel as if I should never be able to write anything again," Eric +sighed. "This is the second—facer I've had. There was a novel I +started.… I'm used up, Manders."</p> + +<p>"Take a holiday and don't talk rot!"</p> + +<p>Conversation languished through the rest of the meal, and Eric hurried +back to his office, pretending that he could not spare time for coffee +or a liqueur. It was an office which he had once hated, because it +absorbed time and strength which he needed for his own work; he had +treated it cavalierly, from time to time writing letters of resignation +and throwing them into a drawer. As he settled to the familiar table in +the crowded, ill-lit room, he wondered whether he would be of the lucky +number for whom the Government service would find openings at the end of +the war. He had yet to prove that he could earn a living again as a +journalist; and efficiency mattered little in a civil servant, for, if +his work were good, some one else would get the credit, and, if it were +bad, it would be undiscovered.…</p> + +<p>A drawling voice from the War Office broke in upon his musings. Had not +Mr. Lane been making enquiries about a Captain Waring? His name was on +the next list of prisoners to be transferred to Switzerland; his +relations would be informed officially.</p> + +<p>Eric telephoned at once to Colonel Waring and Barbara. As he dressed for +dinner, Agnes arrived in a laden car with both her parents, clamorous +for help in securing passports. They were staying at the Charing Cross +Hotel with their boxes packed, waiting for further news, and the +radiance in their eyes scorched him. Barbara had received the news +almost without comment; he wondered what manner she would shew him; +perhaps this was the last time that they would ever meet.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">{225}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not <i>sure</i> that her ladyship's dressed yet.… If you wouldn't +mind waiting, sir.… I <i>have</i> taken the paper into her ladyship's +room.… I hope you've been keeping well, sir.…?"</p> + +<p>Eric started in physical pain at the familiar friendliness of the old +butler. The little confidences, introduced with a deprecatory cough, +floated down from a height one stair above him. Barbara's room, as ever, +was in chaos; her kitten, roused by his entrance, stretched herself and +arched her back. Then the other door opened, and Barbara hurried in. Her +arms were soft and cool as ever against his cheeks, and he caught a +well-remembered breath of carnations as her head bent low on to his +breast. He held her close; but his pressure suddenly relaxed, and he +stepped back.</p> + +<p>"Don't you like kissing me any more?" she asked. "I've been hungry for +you all these months!"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking what it would be like if you suddenly took yourself out +of my life," said Eric.</p> + +<p>"Darling, why must you spoil the present by dragging in the future?"</p> + +<p>"I can't think of anything else."</p> + +<p>Barbara took his arm and led him to a chair.</p> + +<p>"I wish you didn't look so frightfully ill," she whispered. "Have you +been missing me? My dear, what a mess I seem to have made of our lives! +Sit down! Let me take care of you! Let me do what I can for you, +darling! It isn't much!"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I'd better stay, Babs," said Eric with nervous +indecision. "I'm bad company; I shall only get on your nerves and upset +you."</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head sadly.</p> + +<p>"I'm not so happy that there's much to spoil. Eric, I sometimes think +you don't quite understand. I'm not miserable because I want Jack and +can't get him. I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">{226}</a></span> know whether I want him or not; that's what +makes the suspense such a hell.… There was a time when I wasn't +sure whether I was in love with him or not.… He was stronger that I +was, he could have done anything with me. If I hadn't felt his power, I +should have paid no attention to him, he couldn't have hurt me, I +shouldn't have wanted to punish him. Is that love? I suppose it's one +form.… When I see him … if he says he wants me … I don't +know what I shall feel like. Love … ordinary love.… There's +never been anything to equal my love for you.… So it hasn't been +easy for me, has it? Ever since I met you, I've pined to know what <i>was</i> +going to happen to me."</p> + +<p>Eric looked away and was silent for several moments. She had made a +romance of her oath to Jack and had played dramatically with alternate +ecstasy and despair, seeing herself as a woman cursed by God. She made a +romance of her twin loves and dual obligations, seeing herself as a +woman fated to blight all who loved her. She lived for "situations" and +conflicts, experimenting in emotion; already a garment of romance had +been woven round Jack.</p> + +<p>"I came to tell you that I'd seen the Warings to-day," Eric said at +length. "They're off to Switzerland as soon as they can get their +passports. If you'd care … I mean, I can write a letter from my +office and enclose anything; it wouldn't be censored then."</p> + +<p>Barbara bent her head until her trembling lips were hidden from him.</p> + +<p>"It's like you to think of that! Nobody's ever loved any one as you love +me! But I won't, Eric. If <i>he</i> wants me …"</p> + +<p>Eric stared at the fire, kicking one heel against the other toe. If she +was in agony of spirit, he could have sworn that she was enjoying the +agony.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I love you more than any one else ever has.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">{227}</a></span> It gives you +enormous gratification.… But I wonder if you think it's anything +more than your own cleverness. I suppose you have some love for me.… But, if he wants you, I shall drop out of your life.… I was +happy, I didn't need you! You wrapped yourself round my life until you +saw that I couldn't do without you, and then—<i>if—he—wants you</i>! What +have you left for me?"</p> + +<p>"Is it nothing to have brought me happiness?" she asked; but his +deep-toned reproach, unrehearsed, unstudied and faltering, had broken +through her surface emotions and shattered her self-absorption. "Eric, +I'm not every one! Your work——"</p> + +<p>"D'you think I can ever write again? You never <i>did</i> think much of +anything I wrote——"</p> + +<p>"You know that I was only teasing you! That first night, when you were +so dreadfully pleased with yourself.… But I found you <i>were</i> human, +after all, when I came home with you——"</p> + +<p>"And broke 'the child's toy.'"</p> + +<p>"Ah, why did you remind me of that?"</p> + +<p>"I was reminded of it myself to-day. I'm not superstitious, but my luck +<i>has</i> gone. I can't write any more."</p> + +<p>"Eric, that's not true!"</p> + +<p>He compressed his lips and shrugged his shoulders, resignedly.</p> + +<p>"You know best, no doubt. Since we met, I've written the first draft of +a novel, which is unreadable, and a play.… I sent the play to +Manders about a fortnight ago."</p> + +<p>"Without telling me? Don't you like sharing things with me any longer?"</p> + +<p>The soft reproach in her voice maddened him. She seemed incapable of +seeing that she wanted the whole of him at a time when she was herself +momentarily drawing away.</p> + +<p>"You choose a curious time to ask that question! There's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">{228}</a></span> nothing to +share. It's turned down, rejected. Nothing I can do to it will make it +even possible. I can't write any more, I'm used up.… Yes, we may +fairly say that my luck has gone. And that night, you may remember, you +recommended me to fall in love, because it would be so good for me.…"</p> + + +<h3>4</h3> + +<p>Since the exchange of incapacitated prisoners began, there had been so +many delays and disappointments that the Warings remained in London, +with what patience they could muster, until they received news that +Jack's party was proceeding to Château d'Oex.</p> + +<p>For reasons which he was at a loss to define Eric saw them off at +Charing Cross. They found time amid their jubilation to be grateful to +him for his trouble in making enquiries at the War Office and in +expediting the issue of their passports. As chairman of his local +military tribunal, the colonel could not be absent from England for any +long time on end, but they were proposing tentatively and subject to +Jack's condition of health to take a villa and to stay with him by +turns. Agnes and her father expected to come back after a week or ten +days, leaving Mrs. Waring in charge until Christmas.</p> + +<p>As they chatted artificially by the carriage door, there was radiance in +the faces of all three; the colonel seemed more upright, Mrs. Waring had +shed her set, stoical calm and, with it, about ten years.</p> + +<p>"You won't forget to write, Agnes," said Eric, as the guard bustled +along the platform, breaking up the little groups like a sheep-dog.</p> + +<p>"It may be only a line, but I'll tell you everything when we get back," +she promised.</p> + +<p>A week passed before her letter reached him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">{229}</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>We got here after the most impossible journey</i>," Agnes wrote from +Château d'Oex, "<i>and Jack came to us yesterday. You can't imagine what +it was like, seeing him again when we'd <span class="smcap lowercase">NEARLY</span> given up hope! He's very +bad—but I suppose I'd better start at the beginning. When he was taken +prisoner, he'd been wounded in the head and slightly gassed. The gassing +doesn't matter, except that he will always have to take care of his +lungs; the head wound has left a scar and a bald place, but he can cover +that up. At present he gets the most awful head-aches if he tries to do +any work. The Germans let him go because he was simply wasting away on +the horrible food they gave him to eat, and he's like a skeleton now. +But we're going to feed him up and put that right, and then it'll just +be a question how much work and what kind of work he'll be able to do +when he's well.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>He's alive, Eric, and that's the great thing. And he's well and strong +compared with some of the ghastly wrecks that you see here. I must wait +till we meet before I give you a full account of all he's been through, +but Major Britwell's story was quite true so far as it went. He <span class="smcap lowercase">DID</span> +insult the guard and he <span class="smcap lowercase">WAS</span> carried off to solitary confinement for nine +months. He won't talk much about that, though, but he had a most awful +time; I honestly wonder that he came through it alive and in his right +mind. I could cry when I look at the men here and think what they've +suffered. But they <span class="smcap lowercase">CAN'T</span> go through it again, Eric; that's one of the +terms of their release, of course. They're out of the war for good; and +it may be very unpatriotic, but I for one say 'Thank God!'</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Well, I must come to business. Father and I are staying here for +another week, and I want you to do a lot of jobs for us. On a separate +sheet you'll find a number of things that I want you to order and have +sent out here. And on the back of this you'll find a list of names and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">{230}</a></span> +addresses. There's so much to do, getting this house straight, that I've +very little time for writing. I want you to be an angel and ring up all +these people and just tell them (you know them all, I think) what I've +told you.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Jack sends love to you, and we are all deeply grateful for what you +have done and what I know you will do for us. I don't think there are +any other messages.</i>"</p> + +<p>The list of names did not contain Barbara's. Eric telephoned to her as +soon as he had received the letter, though he knew that she would be in +bed and that a tiresome footman would say: "I don't think her ladyship's +been called yet, sir. Perhaps you would ring up later." With patience he +got into communication with her and read out the first pages of the +letter. When she had thanked him, he asked with trepidation whether she +had heard from Jack. An hour seemed to pass while she rang for her +letters and looked at the postmarks.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing from Switzerland," she announced at length.</p> + +<p>Eric's heart leapt with relief. Agnes had written; surely Jack could +have written, too, had he wished? In the ensuing silence Barbara's +voice, suddenly toneless, came back to him.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Babs, for <i>your</i> sake."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, darling."</p> + +<p>"I'll make a point of seeing Agnes as soon as she gets back to England," +he went on.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, darling."</p> + +<p>"And, of course, I'll let you know anything there is to know. Very +likely you'll get a letter before I see her."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I shall." Her voice trembled; and Eric, ceasing to weight +justice or consider provocation, wished that he had Jack Waring's throat +between his hands. "Well, I mustn't keep you from your work. Thank you +for telling me, Eric."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">{231}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Babs. I suppose it wouldn't amuse you to lunch or dine with +me anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"Not to-day, I think. But I love you for asking me. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>For a week he wrote to her twice daily, trying to forget himself in the +effort to keep her amused. They met once at dinner with Lady Maitland; +and it hurt him absurdly when as a matter of ritual he was detailed to +see Barbara home. On the day named, Colonel Waring and Agnes arrived in +London and telephoned, asking him to dine with them at their hotel.</p> + +<p>Trepidation hid become his normal mood, and Eric walked into the lounge +with his teeth set and the muscles of his cheeks hard. The burgeoning +happiness of Agnes was harder to bear than ever, but he achieved a +tolerable effect as the undemonstrative, phlegmatic Englishman and +mingled suitable congratulations with his many questions.</p> + +<p>"I handed on the good news to every one you mentioned," he said at the +end of dinner. "And to one or two others who I thought would be +interested to hear it. Did he send me any jobs or messages?"</p> + +<p>"He wants a pipe, but father can get that. I don't think he sent any +messages."</p> + +<p>Eric looked at his watch and begged to be excused. It was half-past ten, +and he had telephoned to say that he would call for Barbara at eleven +and bring her home from a party in Portman Square.</p> + +<p>When he reached the house, Eric was disconcerted to learn that Barbara +had already left. He was slightly less surprised, on reaching home, to +find the hall ablaze with light and Barbara lying at full length on a +sofa with her cloak trailing on the carpet and a bottle of +<i>eau-de-Cologne</i> clutched in one hand.</p> + +<p>She started and opened her eyes as he came into the room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">{232}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eric, did you go …? I'm sorry! I couldn't wait, I couldn't bear +being with people. I've been asleep. I've got such a racking headache, +darling."</p> + +<p>Eric took a bottle of aspirin from the drawer of his writing-table.</p> + +<p>"Have you had any of this to-day?" he asked. "Then I can give you +fifteen grains. Wait till I've got some water." He returned with a +tumbler and two cushions and seated himself at her feet. "Have you heard +anything fresh from Switzerland?" he asked. "Well, I'm afraid I haven't, +either. I dined with Colonel Waring and Agnes to-night, as you know."</p> + +<p>Barbara had uncovered her eyes to hold the tumbler; but she set it on +the floor, as he began to speak, and shielded her face.</p> + +<p>"H-how is he?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"He gets tired rather quickly, but otherwise he's all right. Leading +quite a normal life, I mean."</p> + +<p>His words were deliberately chosen to shew that Jack was in a state to +have written, had he wished. His choice was not wasted on her.</p> + +<p>"And what now, Eric?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that for you to say?"</p> + +<p>Barbara uncovered her eyes again and looked slowly round the room. It +had become so familiar that she no longer noticed its shape or +colouring. Instinctively she knew that the sofa demanded a cushion at +her back and that the arm-chair between the fire and window did not. But +she had never, until now, consciously observed the carpet and curtains, +the breast-high white book-cases and Chippendale writing-table, since +the first night when she came there and stood tossing a glass horse-shoe +idly into the air and stealing curious glances at the furniture.</p> + +<p>She recognized it all now and remembered her earliest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">{233}</a></span> emotions, +remembered even telling him that the first burning cigarette would spoil +his grey carpet. But her vision was blurred; she fancied herself seeing +through the walls, penetrating a belt of darkness and piercing other +walls beyond which she sat at supper with an undemonstrative, quietly +determined young man. The jig and stamp of ragtime echoed +overhead—"Dixie! All abo-o-oard for Dixie! Dixie! Tak your tickuts +heere for Dixie!"; she heard her own voice—"I love that one-step. Why +did you drag me away in the middle?" and Jack Waring's in answer—"Well, +you ought to be grateful to me for getting you a table before the rush +starts." That was a few hours before war was declared, though the long +banqueting-hall of Loring Castle had resounded with rumours and +expositions of war throughout dinner. Almost at once Jack asked her to +marry him; she once more heard his tranquil explanation—"I've just been +received into your church."</p> + +<p>A blaze of light.… A thunder of voices.… Out of the distance +she heard him saying, "In fact, you've been lying to me all along? You +never intended to marry me?"</p> + +<p>A blaze of light; and silence that made her head sing. Jack's face +seemed to grow thinner and the gleam in his eyes more brightly cold. The +supper-room was emptying, but neither could decide to stand up and say +good-bye. Lord Summertown and a brother-officer waltzed in and became +noisily cheerful in one corner. Later they heard a car driving past the +open windows; George Oakleigh appeared in the doorway; Summertown's +companion finished the champagne and rose to his feet protesting +fretfully: "To declare war in the middle of supper is not the act of a +gentleman.…" Then at last she had seen that she had tempted Jack to +imperil his soul.…</p> + +<p>War had seemed a small thing then, though Jack Summertown was to be +killed within six weeks and her cousin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">{234}</a></span> Jim within a year. It was a +thing remote and only important as postponing her punishment from Jack.</p> + +<p>"I must get back to London," he said suddenly. "I'm going to ask +Summertown for a seat in his car."</p> + +<p>For dragging minutes she felt her soul being crucified. While Jack stood +talking in the hall or on the steps, she tried to conceal from herself +what she had done and, when that was impossible, to nerve herself to +make reparation. Then she was blinded by the glare of the head-lights +and opened her eyes to find that the car had swept beyond reach of her +voice.…</p> + +<p>Once again everything was warm and dark in the summer night.… +Slowly the distant wail of the orchestra died from her ears. She had a +vague memory of going upstairs with Oakleigh and of seeing him draw Jim +aside and whisper to him, but between them lingered a white face with +incredulous eyes, and above the music hammered the sound of a broken +sentence: "So this was your revenge?" And then, calling Jim to witness, +she made the sign of the Cross and swore that she would offer herself, +body and soul, to Jack, if he wanted her.…</p> + +<p>The noise faded out of hearing, and she was once more in a room of +blazing light; a man was looking at her, silent, white-faced and +reproachful; and a new phrase was beating on her brain.</p> + +<p>"<i>I want to know what you're going to do now?</i>"</p> + +<p>She stretched out her hand; but Eric did not take it, and her eyes +wandered once more idly round the room. The forgotten curtains and grey +carpet, the writing-table and neat pile of manuscript flung back to her +memory the summer night when she had first come to disturb his peace of +mind.</p> + +<p>"I make <i>every one</i> miserable!" she cried, and both started at the +violation of their long silence.</p> + +<p>Eric's head sank lower; but his eyes never left her face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">{235}</a></span> That night +she had been like an animal tortured to madness; since that night she +had taken all that his love could give her and had repaid it by +torturing him to madness in his turn, by destroying his health and +ruining his work.</p> + +<p>"Eric, I <i>want</i> to give you everything, but I've sworn to God! Until +I've seen Jack.…"</p> + +<p>"You've broken your oath in everything but form. From the first night we +met you've belonged to me in all but name."</p> + +<p>"But won't you wait? Oh, why will you <i>drive</i> me?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not driving you, Babs. I've not asked for anything."</p> + +<p>She stood up and drew her cloak round her, glancing once at him and +turning quickly away as she saw his hunched body and haggard face. One +after the other she slowly drew on her gloves, looking with misty eyes +for her bag. As she moved to the door, Eric rose and opened it, +gathering up his overcoat with the other hand. They had parted like this +so often that he no longer seemed to care.… A four-wheeler was +ambling along Ryder Street, and he hailed it. Neither spoke until it +drew up opposite her house and she saw him fumbling with the handle. +Then she laid her fingers on his wrist and chokingly bade him stop.</p> + +<p>"I'll marry you, Eric," she said.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Barbara."</p> + +<p>She hurried out before he could kiss her and stood with face upturned +and eyes tightly shut. God, who had heard the oath taken and broken, was +free to strike her now; if He held His hand, it was because He had more +subtle punishment in store.…</p> + +<p>Barbara pulled her cloak over her chest and ran despairingly into the +house.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">{236}</a></span></p><hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>Loneliness may be so intolerable that I believe God would forgive us +our blindest groping after alleviation. But would God forgive me, if, in +my groping, I brought such misery of loneliness to another, knowing now +what manner of thing it is?</i>"—From the Diary of Eric Lane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">{237}</a></span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_EIGHT" id="CHAPTER_EIGHT"></a>CHAPTER EIGHT<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">THE STRONGEST THING OF ALL</span></h2> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Tam saepe nostrum decipi Fabullinum<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Miraris, Aule? Semper homo bonus tiro est."<br /></span> +</div></div><p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Martial.</span> +</p></div> + + + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>"<i>If you care for a six-months' lecturing tour in America</i>," wrote +Grierson, "<i>I have an unrivalled offer. You would start in the New Year</i>.…"</p> + +<p>His agent's letter was the first that Eric opened on the morning after +Barbara promised to marry him. As he lay half-awake, waiting to be +called, he realized that something had changed the foundations of his +life; he was at peace, well and strong, with a heart tuned for adventure +and a new tireless energy.</p> + +<p>Six o'clock.… Seven.… Eight.… He carried the telephone +into the smoking-room, lest he should be tempted to disturb Barbara, and +paced bare-foot up and down, wondering how to inaugurate the new life. +In marrying a Protestant, she would forfeit the money which she had +received under her god-father's will; henceforward he must work and earn +for two. In his safe lay a brown-paper parcel containing the manuscript +of a novel, unopened since the day when Gaisford so contumeliously flung +it back at him. Eric carried the despised book into his bedroom and +began to skim the pages. With his new sense of power, he would so +re-write it that the doctor should eat humble-pie; and there would be a +slice for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">{238}</a></span> Manders too. It was no good trying him with another version +of the "Singing-Bird"; but "Mother's Son," which had lain neglected ever +since it was sent back three years before, needed only a word of change +and a touch of polish. October, November, December.… Eric would be +ready for America in the New Year.</p> + +<p>The next letter was from Agnes, begging him to write occasionally to +Jack; the next from Lady Lane, wondering when he was coming to Lashmar. +A firm of topical photographers respectfully begged leave to send a +representative by appointment to interview Mr. Lane and to enrich their +gallery with a few camera-studies of the house and of the author at +work. The other letters were invitations and charitable appeals.</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock he telephoned to ask when he could see Barbara, but was +told that she had not yet been called. After two more unsuccessful +attempts, he sent a note by hand, inviting himself to tea, and spent the +rest of the morning at work on the manuscript of his novel. Shortly +before luncheon his interviewer arrived with an assistant bearing a +camera, and for half an hour the flat was filled with the smoke and +powder of the magnesium flares. Eric submitted sheepishly to being +"discovered" looking (in profile) out of his dining-room window, to +being "interrupted" at his desk (three-quarter face), to being found +taking a moment's respite for thought and a cigarette (full face, with +his back to the smoking-room fire); finally he was dressed up in hat and +coat and shewn to be saying good-bye in the hall. While the assistant +packed up his camera and tripod, Eric allowed himself to be interrogated +on his past and future work, his plans and views of art.</p> + +<p>"Have you anything <i>new</i>?" asked the interviewer. "I've got all the old +stuff out of '<i>Who's Who</i>'."</p> + +<p>Eric spoke vaguely of the novel, the play and the course of lectures in +America, remembering the threadbare com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">{239}</a></span>monplaces of such illustrated +interviews as he had read; it were fruitless to fancy that he could vary +the form or fact of what was being so industriously scribbled down.</p> + +<p>"Nothing expected for some months? I must work up the back stock. I +shall want you to tell me in a minute what <i>started</i> you writing plays.… Now, about your engagement?"</p> + +<p>"My engagement?" Eric echoed.</p> + +<p>The man nodded and moistened the end of his pencil in anticipation.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's what I'm here for! I don't say," he added apologetically, +"that this stuff wouldn't stand by itself—or come in useful, anyway."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I don't quite follow."</p> + +<p>The man looked at him in patient surprise.</p> + +<p>"We supply all the pictures for '<i>The World and His Wife</i>'," he +explained. "They 'phoned through to know if we could let them have +up-to-date photographs of you and Lady Barbara Neave——"</p> + +<p>"But you spoke of an engagement."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it true, then?"</p> + +<p>"This sort of thing is really intolerable!" Eric cried. "I don't want to +tell other people how to run their business, but in common decency your +firm might wait for an official announcement in '<i>The Times</i>' instead of +circulating these rumours——"</p> + +<p>"It's only a rumour, then?" said the interviewer blankly, pocketing his +note-book.</p> + +<p>As he walked to Berkeley Square, Eric decided that, by telling Barbara +of his encounter, he would annoy her without bringing relief to himself. +The announcement, when it came, would be made with imposing ceremony +after a meeting between his father and Lord Crawleigh, an adjustment of +religious differences and a distressingly material discussion of +settlements. There would be ponderous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">{240}</a></span> debates and irritating +disagreements; Barbara and he both needed a respite for recuperation.…</p> + +<p>"I telephoned three times this morning," said Eric, as he was shewn into +the drawing-room. "I did so want to talk to you! I was so happy I +couldn't sleep."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't sleep, either," said Barbara huskily, holding out one hand +and covering her eyes with the other.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to kiss me?"</p> + +<p>"If you like. It's your right now."</p> + +<p>Eric let fall her hand and drew back, biting his lip.</p> + +<p>"That's not a very pretty thing to say, darling," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry.… I've been haunted all night. It seemed as if God +<i>must</i> strike me down.… And, whenever I fell asleep, Jack was +there, reproaching me, mocking me——"</p> + +<p>"He's had his chance," Eric interrupted sharply. "You start absolutely +free."</p> + +<p>"You mean he's—rejected me?"</p> + +<p>After the tragic talk of God's striking her down for taking His name in +vain, Eric could not attune himself readily to a whimper of wounded +vanity. Barbara's dramatic intensity had hitherto been convincing, and +he had never imagined that she was unhappy because she had offered +herself to a man and he had repelled her.</p> + +<p>"I mean it's—all over. You've no reason to reproach yourself, Babs.… I want to talk to you about seeing your father——"</p> + +<p>She stopped him with a shudder, and Eric found a difficulty in curbing +his impatience. Trying a fresh cast, he described his latest invitation +to lecture in America. Barbara listened with half her attention, +mechanically agreeing that it would be an experience and a change, +mechanically accepting his figures and wounding him with an indifference +which was made greater by her early love of sharing his triumphs with +him. He hunted through a pile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">{241}</a></span> of letters and gave her one in which the +previous occupant of his flat offered generous terms for the remainder +of the lease.</p> + +<p>"We must decide some time when we're going to be married," he said, "and +where we're going to live."</p> + +<p>"<i>Please</i>, Eric!"</p> + +<p>He looked at her in amazement and drew slowly away from her side, +walking to the fire-place and resting his forehead on his arm.</p> + +<p>"I—don't … I don't understand what's the matter," he murmured at +length. "Last night … You did it of your own free will, Babs.… +And unless you wanted to hurt me more completely and ingeniously than +you've ever succeeded in doing before——"</p> + +<p>The girl winced and covered her face with her hands.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't hurt you for the world!" she whispered. "Ah! God! I wish I'd +never met you, I wish I'd never been born! Don't you <i>see</i> that I +couldn't go on taking, taking, taking with both hands—all your +sweetness and gentleness, everything—and giving you nothing in return? +When you said that I'd spoiled your work … Didn't I see that I'd +already ruined your health and made you miserable? I <i>tried</i> to make +amends, but it wasn't in my power. I ought never to have given you that +promise!"</p> + +<p>"Don't you love me any more, Babs?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, what have I done since last night?"</p> + +<p>"You haven't done anything.… It was a letter.… You remember +about Jim Loring's ball just before the war——"</p> + +<p>Eric drew her head on to his shoulder and kissed her.</p> + +<p>"My darling, that's all so long ago! Why distress yourself with it now?"</p> + +<p>"Jack was staying with the Knightriders," she persisted. "Kathleen +Knightrider's the only soul who's ever sus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">{242}</a></span>pected.… <i>I</i> never told +her. She's heard that Jack has been sent to Switzerland and she wrote +this morning to—to congratulate me! I tried to make amends to Jack too.… Oh, the mockery of it! All last night I saw the two of you +pulling, pulling …"</p> + +<p>"He's had his chance," Eric told her again.</p> + +<p>"I wish God <i>had</i> struck me down," she whispered.</p> + +<p>Eric invented an excuse to leave early, for, when Barbara was not +reproaching herself for the engagement, she affected the abject humility +of a slave whom he had bought for his pleasure. Perhaps she was amusing +herself with a new emotion, perhaps she wanted to keep him alert and +suspended, perhaps she enjoyed the vision of herself torn between the +two men who wanted her more than anything in the world.…</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>For the second morning in succession Barbara did not telephone. Eric +waited until noon and then asked her to dine with him.</p> + +<p>"I will, if you—want me to," she answered with the new servile +listlessness; and he wondered again whether she was trying to exact some +novel abandonment of adoration or to exhaust him by passive resistance. +"I believe we <i>have</i> people dining," she added.</p> + +<p>"Well, choose some other night," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. And I'm going to the country +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"But I thought you were going to be in London till Christmas."</p> + +<p>"I'm supposed to be ill," she answered and hung up the receiver before +he could say anything more.</p> + +<p>Eric returned to his work, affecting unconsciousness of her alternating +indifference and hostility. In the afternoon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">{243}</a></span> Agnes Waring telephoned to +say that she was unexpectedly in London and would like to have tea with +him. He welcomed her cordially, only hoping that she would not stay long +enough to clash with Babs, and, guiltily reminded of her letter, put +aside his work and began writing to Jack. Once or twice, as he paused to +fill his pipe, the old feeling of duplicity came back, as on the Sundays +when he walked home from Red Roofs in jubilation after Agnes had told +him with her unchanging composure that there was still no news of her +brother. And now he was writing a gossipy, facetious letter.… Eric +tore the envelope in two—and then hesitated. Jack had been given his +opportunity, and he had not taken it.</p> + +<p>Agnes did not arrive until nearly six o'clock and then came attended by +a young officer.</p> + +<p>"You remember Mr. Benyon," she said. "We brought him to dine at the +Mill-House last year. He hadn't seen 'The Bomb-Shell,' so we went to the +<i>matinée</i> to-day."</p> + +<p>"Jolly good, if I may say so," murmured Benyon. "Hope you don't mind my +buttin' in like this? Agnes said——"</p> + +<p>"I obviously couldn't come here alone, Dick," she interrupted; and Eric +wondered whether they would have left before Barbara came alone to dine +with him.</p> + +<p>He wondered too what intimacy Agnes had reached with this young man who +was beginning to recur in her life and conversation. They had attained +the Christian name milestone without passing it; and she seemed to have +brought him as a challenge. Whenever Eric flagged in attention, Agnes +brought Benyon up like an army of reserve; whenever Benyon fancied that +he had won a position, she rounded on her own reinforcements and +admitted Eric to a private intimacy of conversation about Jack. It was a +new part for her to play, but no woman seemed able to resist the +intoxication of having two men interested in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">{244}</a></span> at the same time. If +only she knew that his interest had died more than a year ago, on the +night when Barbara sat in that room, on that sofa.… Perhaps she did +know. He caught her looking at him with an expression which changed +almost before their eyes met. Was it desperation, defiance, an +indifferent resolve to give him one last chance—or his own +hypercritical fancy?</p> + +<p>They were still talking when Barbara was announced.</p> + +<p>"Gracious! Is it <i>eight</i>?" Agnes cried, looking at her watch. "I thought +it was only seven. We must fly. Dick's taking me to a <i>revue</i>."</p> + +<p>"Won't you wait for a cocktail?" Eric asked. "By the way, I don't think +you know Lady Barbara Neave. Miss Waring, Babs. Mr. Benyon."</p> + +<p>The two girls shook hands, and Agnes began searching for her gloves and +purse, hurriedly declining Eric's invitation.</p> + +<p>"I used to know your brother quite well before the war," said Barbara. +"I was so thankful to hear your good news."</p> + +<p>Agnes looked up with a quick smile.</p> + +<p>"We never <i>quite</i> lost hope," she said.</p> + +<p>"Eric told me that you and your people had been out to see him in +Switzerland. How did you find him?"</p> + +<p>The smile died away in wistfulness.</p> + +<p>"Well, he's alive, and that's the great thing," Agnes answered. "The +doctors out there don't seem to think that he'll ever be able to do much +work with his head again; he'll probably have to give up the bar and +live out of doors. You can understand that, when a man's just begun to +get a practice together——"</p> + +<p>"But is that quite certain?" Barbara interrupted.</p> + +<p>"N-no. But it seems probable. There's a report that some of the bad +cases are going to be sent home. Then we shall see."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">{245}</a></span></p> + +<p>Eric watched the faces of the two girls. Barbara's expressed nothing +more than the conventional sympathy of one stranger hearing of another's +misfortune; a few months earlier Agnes had not known that Jack and +Barbara were even acquainted.</p> + +<p>"How soon do you expect him?" asked Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't think anything's been decided yet. And you know how long +these things take.… Eric, if I'd had any idea how late it was …!"</p> + +<p>He accompanied her to the door and returned to find Barbara still +standing, still in her cloak. The flicker of animation which she had +presented on meeting Agnes had died down, and she was again the sport of +man and the plaything of fate.</p> + +<p>"I like her, Eric," she remarked thoughtfully. "Why don't you marry her? +Any one can see she's in love with you."</p> + +<p>"You're the only person in the world I want to marry," he answered.</p> + +<p>Barbara's face twisted in a spasm of pain.</p> + +<p>"God! How it hurts when you say that! Eric, I shall make you miserable +and be miserable myself! I love you; you know I love you! But I don't +want to marry you. Why don't you forget me? Go away——"</p> + +<p>"Forget you!" Eric gripped her by the shoulders. "What d'you think would +be left, if I lost you?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened wide with wonder.</p> + +<p>"You can't love me as much as that, Eric!"</p> + +<p>"I love you so much that I'd sooner have an air-raid to-night and a bomb +on my head here, now, than lose you! You're the whole world to me!"</p> + +<p>She shook her head miserably and without hope of flattering reassurance.</p> + +<p>"I could have killed myself when you told me that I'd destroyed your +power of work," she whispered. "And to-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">{246}</a></span>night, when that girl said that +Jack might never be able to work again … It's what I should feel, if +we married and I couldn't bear children! I should be incomplete, +useless!"</p> + +<p>"But <i>you</i>'re not responsible."</p> + +<p>"I might make things easier.…"</p> + +<p>So compassion was coming to reinforce or supplant vanity.… Eric +felt that he knew Barbara's moods in advance. Lady Knightrider—a curse +on her name—had started by setting every nerve on edge; the sight of +Agnes Waring—with Jack's eyes, hair and voice—had completed her +discomfiture; and Barbara had been morbidly drawing one unhappy picture +after another. Jack was incapacitated; and, with his pride, he would +never win through pity what he had failed to win on merit. Incapacitated +or not, Jack was a pauper; and, with his fantastic honour, he would +regard himself as an outcast from Barbara's society.</p> + +<p>"Even if he can't go back to the bar," said Eric at length, "his father +will have no difficulty in getting him a job. Lord Waring could take him +on as his agent."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I never thought he'd starve! But it must be such a disappointment."</p> + +<p>"Well, the war's been such a mix-up that seven men out of ten will +change their careers, when they come back.… Babs … do you care +for Jack as much as that?"</p> + +<p>She looked up quickly with a gleam of hope in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to—forget my promise?"</p> + +<p>"No! I asked whether you cared for Jack as much as all that."</p> + +<p>Barbara shook her head in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"I've given you my heart, Eric. But I owe Jack my soul."</p> + +<p>Behind the neat phrasing of the professional trafficker in emotions, +Eric felt that she was trying to weary him of their forty-eight hours' +engagement.…<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">{247}</a></span></p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>At the beginning of November Eric went to Lashmar for a long week-end. +After the first days of his engagement he had hardly seen or heard +anything of Barbara. She was presumably at Crawleigh Abbey, but for a +week she answered no more than one letter out of three; after that, with +a sense that he could do nothing right and that they were fretting each +other's nerves, he ceased to correspond and was trying to absorb and +exhaust himself with work. Now his novel was in the agent's hand, and +"Mother's Son" had been sent to Manders.</p> + +<p>As he dawdled before a book-stall at Waterloo, Eric's eye was caught by +"<i>The World and His Wife</i>" contents' bill, which announced, with other +attractions, an "Illustrated Interview with Mr. Eric Lane." There had +not been time for him to receive the article from his news-cutting +agency, and he bought a copy to read in the train. The pictures were +well reproduced, and he was by now so hardened to the perverse +inaccuracy and genial blatancy of the letter-press that he hardly +blushed at the aspirations which were attributed to him, until his +attention was arrested in mid-paragraph by Barbara's name. Collecting +himself and glancing almost guiltily round the somnolent carriage, he +turned back to the beginning.</p> + +<p>"<i>Rumour has been busy with the names of Mr. Lane and of Lady Barbara +Neave, only daughter of the Marquess of Crawleigh. No official +announcement has been made, but the young people have been going about +together a good deal lately; some of our readers may have seen them at +the <span class="smcap lowercase">PREMIÈRE</span> of 'The Bomb-Shell.' The Stage has of recent years +surrendered so much of its beauty and talent to the Peerage that it is +high time for the Peerage to make this romantic return to the Stage.… Mr. Lane's advice to budding playwrights is reminiscent of Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">{248}</a></span> +Punch's famous advice to those about to marry—'Don't.' Though the +'Divorce' was his first play to be produced, it was not the first that +he had written; like most authors, he had to buy experience.…</i>"</p> + +<p>There was nothing in the rest of the article to incriminate him, but the +offending paragraph was enough in itself. Guiltily Eric looked round a +second time. Two of his fellow-passengers, slumbering with mouths agape, +were clutching "<i>The World and His Wife</i>" to their stomachs; it was the +one periodical of later date than "<i>Punch</i>" and the monthly reviews +which his parents took in at the Mill-House. Saturday was made eventful +by its appearance; even Sir Francis interested himself in the full-page +studies of actresses and <i>débutantes</i>, the house-party groups and +snapshots of celebrities in the Park.…</p> + +<p>As he climbed into the car Eric was careful to let Sybil see that he was +carrying the paper in his hand. She had scarcely wormed her way out of +the traffic and shot free along the Melton road before she nodded +towards the bulging strap of his despatch-box.</p> + +<p>"Is that true, Ricky?"</p> + +<p>"Is what true?"</p> + +<p>"That you're engaged to that woman?"</p> + +<p>"Does the paper say so?" Eric enquired loftily. "By the way, Barbara +Neave is a great friend of mine, and I don't very much care about +hearing her described as 'that woman.…' I think the paper only said +that 'rumour' had 'been busy with' our 'names.' Rumour's been damnably +busy; it won't leave us alone!"</p> + +<p>His sister was silent for some moments.</p> + +<p>"I hope to <i>Heaven</i> you're not going to make a fool of yourself with +her," she exclaimed at length. "She'll wear you out, spoil your work, +make you bankrupt in a month——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">{249}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Isn't this rather sweeping about some one you've never even met?" Eric +interposed gently.</p> + +<p>"You take such jolly good care that we shouldn't meet her," Sybil +answered at a tangent.</p> + +<p>While he dressed for dinner Lady Lane came into his bedroom, more +diplomatic but no whit less insistent. As his mother, she was prepared +to make the best of everything and to suppress her own feelings; but, if +Eric had committed a crime, he could not have felt greater distaste in +putting her off with half-truths.</p> + +<p>"You'll tell us—when there's anything to tell?" begged his mother, as +they went down to dinner; and Eric felt that he might have saved his +elaborate prevarications for a more gullible audience. Sir Francis made +no direct allusion throughout the week-end, but, as they sat over their +wine on the first night, he enquired spasmodically how old Eric was, how +much money he had made during the last year and what literary ventures +he had in contemplation.</p> + +<p>It was a relief to walk over to Red Roofs next day and have tea with +Agnes Waring and her father. For an hour he was spared even indirect +references to the unhappy interview, though in his over-sensitive +condition he fancied that Agnes was unwontedly frigid in manner, as +though a new barrier had been placed between them. Conversation centred +about her brother. Humanly speaking, he would be released from +Switzerland within a few weeks and would come either to Paris or London; +he was, of course, debarred from active service, but the War Office +would no doubt test his capabilities of health and brain either in +Whitehall or at the Ministère de la Guerre. Eric could count on seeing +him almost any day—in England, or, if he could invent a mission, in +Paris.</p> + +<p>Only when she had walked through the garden to send him on his way +across the fields did Agnes touch on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">{250}</a></span> offending article. They were +standing on opposite sides of a sun-dial at the end of a fruit-walk; and +both were recalling the earlier Sundays when Eric had asked with +sympathetically lowered voice: "No news of Jack, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"You're looking as if you wanted a holiday," Agnes volunteered.</p> + +<p>"I've been rather worried lately," Eric answered vaguely.</p> + +<p>"Not about that——" She looked at him and moved round, slipping her +hand through his arm. "<i>I</i> shouldn't worry about a thing like that! +She's so well-known that the papers are on to her like cats on a mouse.… I liked her that night I met her, Eric."</p> + +<p>"It makes my relations with her rather difficult," he laughed.</p> + +<p>"But all you've got to do is not to meet her!" Agnes explained in a tone +of convincing reason.</p> + +<p>"She's—<i>one</i> of the greatest friends I've got," he said.</p> + +<p>Agnes rubbed gently at the tarnished motto on the dial.</p> + +<p>"That makes it rather difficult, of course," she said at length.</p> + +<p>And then it seemed easiest for him to shake hands and walk away without +adding anything.</p> + +<p>His family by itself on one side, Agnes by herself on the other would +not have spurred Eric to action. He was precipitated by the +felicitations of an almost complete stranger in the train on Monday +morning and held to his course by a succession of congratulatory notes +and telephone messages.</p> + +<p>"<i>I don't know</i>," he wrote to Barbara on reaching home, "<i>whether you +have seen this week's '<span style="font-style: normal;">World and His Wife</span>.' There's a rather broad +hint at our engagement, and I'm receiving congratulations. Isn't this a +golden opportunity for publishing the news?</i>"</p> + +<p>Barbara's reply was tuned to an uncompromising note which Eric had met +but once before—at the beginning of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">{251}</a></span> last illness, when he had +threatened to go away from her and the threat had misfired; when, too, +he—"one of our conquerors"—had broken down and cringed to her; and +she, with drawn cheeks and leaden eyes, had laid his head on her bosom +and caressed him, not as a conqueror or a lover, but as a tired, sick +child.</p> + +<p>"<i>I am so very miserable</i>," she wrote. "<i>Sometimes I could almost wish +to die—just to get us all out of this terrible tangle. You'd be +happier—after a time, when you'd got over the first feeling of loss and +loneliness; and, however lonely and unhappy you'd be without me, it +would be nothing to the misery I should bring you, if we were foolish +enough to marry. Let me be your devoted, your very loving, very grateful +friend! If you try to marry me, you'll be marrying my name, my voice, my +clothes, my body; you won't be marrying me; you'll waste your divine +love on a woman whose soul is at the other end of the world. Whatever +happens, I must do you a hideous wrong.</i>"</p> + +<p>Eric read the letter three times and left it unanswered.</p> + +<p>A very little more of this erotic battledore-and-shuttlecock would send +them both out of their minds. It was a mistake to write, when both +needed a holiday. He telephoned to his agent and walked to Covent Garden +for a consultation about the lecturing-tour in America.</p> + +<p>"I'm worn out, I must have a complete change," said Eric. "And I want to +start at once."</p> + +<p>Grierson was surprised out of his habitual placidity by the nervous +vehemence of Eric's manner.</p> + +<p>"You'll need a month or two to prepare your lectures," he pointed out.</p> + +<p>"You can begin making the arrangements immediately. London's getting on +my nerves rather. Three months in the country, three months out +there—oh, the war may be over by then.… I'm sick of England.… +If the war's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">{252}</a></span> still going on, I shall stay away and go on to Japan. +You'll fix that, Grierson?"</p> + +<p>He jumped up restlessly and was starting for the door when his agent +recalled him.</p> + +<p>"Are you in a hurry?" he asked. "There are one or two things I want to +talk to you about. Rather good news," he added. "Staines have accepted +your novel on our terms. I had a fight over the advance, but your name +carried you through."</p> + +<p>Eric was not interested in the figures. He was recalling the mood in +which he had sent the manuscript to Grierson, when he was working under +inspiration. He had grudged the hours wasted on sleep and food when he +might have been working for Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I seem to have more money than I know what to do with," he answered +shortly. "By the way, has Manders given tongue yet about the play?"</p> + +<p>"'Mother's Son'? Yes, I wrote you last night. Didn't you get my letter? +Oh, he's quite enthusiastic about it. He suggests a few small +changes——"</p> + +<p>"Manders would," Eric rejoined from habit rather than resentment. He did +not care if he never wrote another play; he did not care if they +returned to him battered and dog's-eared after months of delay and +desultory travel—as in the old days. Manders might cut the thing about +to the top of his vulgar Philistine bent.</p> + +<p>"He wants to begin rehearsing at once," Grierson went on slowly. "And +the 'Divorce' is being revived at the Emperor's. You'll have three plays +running in London at the same time."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to stay in England to please Manders," Eric interrupted.</p> + +<p>"He'd like to have a talk with you about it before you leave London," +said Grierson.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">{253}</a></span></p> + +<p>Eric caught himself yawning. It was such futility to discuss a play in +which he had lost all interest.</p> + +<p>On his return, he yawned again over his letters. It was futile to hear +from people in whom he had lost all interest, though a Swiss stamp and a +hand-writing which he had almost forgotten quickened the beating of his +heart.</p> + +<p>"<i>My dear Eric</i>," he read.</p> + +<p>"<i>Your letter was a joy to me! Please go on writing. You cannot imagine +how home-sick I feel. I want the smell of London again, I want to hear +people talking my own language and I want to see 'em in bulk, drifting +slowly down the Strand from the Temple. Do you remember the old days +when we lived together in Pump Court? I want to go and lunch at the club +again and have a little dinner at the Berkeley, say, and go on to a +theatre, decently dressed with other people decently dressed too. +There's a chance—one lives on hope from day to day—that I may be sent +home; I don't seem to be getting any better here: all goes well for a +time, and then I get such a head-ache as I would not sell for the minted +wealth of the world. Of course, that makes work of any kind rather a +problem, and I see myself looking out for a job which I can do at my own +convenience, when I feel up to it. The bar doesn't look particularly +hopeful, if I'm unable to last out a long case or if I can't appear at +all; I'm afraid my standing's hardly good enough to convince any one if +I say I've got a case in another court. I think you'll have to expound +to me the whole art of writing plays; that's the sort of thing for my +one-hour-on-and-six-hours-off condition.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>You're such a celebrity nowadays that I suppose you simply won't look +at your humble friends! I saw your first thing the last time I was +home—it seems like the Dark Ages now, before my little sojourn in +Mittel-Europa. I imagine you're sick of hearing it praised, especially +by people who don't know anything about it, but I thought it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">{254}</a></span> was an +amazingly good play. The moment I was within range of English +papers—this was before I got your letter—I went through the +advertisements to see if you were still 'drawing all London' (I believe +that's the phrase) and found that yet another was going very strong. You +seem to have struck oil. The best of good luck to you.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>There's really nothing to tell you about this place. I believe you +know Château d'Oex; well, there's a little colony of British prisoners +of war here, some more knocked about than others, but all pretty glad to +be out of Hunland. The Swiss gave us a great reception, and we're +allowed pretty fair liberty, though we can't wander at large over the +whole of Switzerland. The War Office is very busy trying to start +industries out here to keep the men employed and to give training to the +unskilled so that they'll have something to do when they're discharged. +You may remember that before I was called, I spent a year with a firm of +chartered accountants, so I'm supposed to know something of +book-keeping. I don't put a very high price on my service, however, +because my attendance is rather erratic.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>I suppose it's out of the question for you to come here? Yet a holiday +would do you good, I'm sure. If you can't manage it, we must wait till +the end of the war or till I'm sent back. And then I dine with +you—sumptuously—and make you take me to the latest of your popular +successes.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Write again, old man. Your letter did me no end of good.</i></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<i>Ever yours</i><br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">"<i>Jack Waring.</i>"<br /></span> +</p> + +<p>Eric read the letter twice and then locked it in a drawer. It was +characteristic of the writer in that he said hardly anything of himself. +That might have been expected, and there was no need to be frightened by +the hand-writing. A moment later he unlocked the drawer and enclosed +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">{255}</a></span> letter in a note to Barbara, reminding her that he had long ago +promised to let her have any news that came to him. The promise was +before their engagement; but the letter would shew her that Jack was +capable of writing.</p> + +<p>A week later Jack wrote again.</p> + +<p>"<i>I've been shifted to Paris, no longer a prisoner of war, but a more or +less free man. I could probably get discharged to-morrow, if I liked, +but the army does pay me <span class="smcap lowercase">SOMETHING</span>, and I haven't yet found anything +else that will.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>For the last fortnight I've been doing a turn of French-Without-Tears +as an interpreter at the <span class="smcap lowercase">MINISTÈRE DE LA GUERRE</span>. There was so little +work to do that the job suited me rather well. Alas! it suited equally +well certain others who had a better claim to it, and I'm being +transferred to England next week with a vague promise of some light duty +at the War Office. The best thing about the new arrangement is that I +shall be at home and shall have a chance of seeing you. 'Mr. Eric Lane, +the well-known dramatist and author, in his charming Ryder Street +residence.' As you probably know, the papers have been full of you; the +gaping world now knows to the last inch of your benevolent smile exactly +how you work and smoke a cigarette and dress and have your pyjamas laid +out. If the photographs are at all good, you seem to have got rather a +comfortable billet. Talking of which, if you hear of any cheap and handy +rooms within a hundred miles of Whitehall, you might keep me in mind. +People out here tell me that London's rather congested.…</i>"</p> + +<p>There was a chance, Eric reflected, that Jack might have glanced at the +pictures in "<i>The World and His Wife</i>" without troubling to read the +letter-press. It was so unlikely as not to be worth entertaining. That +he had read of the rumoured engagement was as certain as that he made no +comment upon it.</p> + +<p>Whether he had seen it or not was trivial. All this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">{256}</a></span> pernickety analysis +was flooded by the overwhelming fact that Jack was coming home. Germany, +Switzerland, Paris, London; nearer and nearer. Within seven days he +might be taking train for Crawleigh—to shew what was left of him and to +ask whether Barbara wished to withdraw her promise. Within six days she +might be begging to be set free, appealing to Eric's love and +magnanimity.…</p> + +<p>He determined that, if they were to play battledore-and-shuttlecock with +their capability for self-sacrifice, he would strike the first blow and +stand ready to see what return she would make.</p> + +<p>"<i>Darling Babs, it's essential that I should see you for a moment</i>," he +wrote. "<i>And that as soon as possible. Are you going to be in London +next week? If so, please fix your own time. If not, what about this? I'm +going down to Lashmar for the week-end and, if you can meet me for +thirty seconds at Crawleigh station, I'll come straight on to you on +Saturday and then get a train back to Winchester. I can't come to the +Abbey, obviously, or every one would want to know what was up. The +business in hand won't take a moment to discuss, but it's <span class="smcap lowercase">ABSOLUTELY +IMPERATIVE</span> that we should discuss it at once.</i>"</p> + +<p>As he posted the letter, Eric was conscious that he could have said all +that was necessary without a meeting, but he knew well that it was far +easier for her to be collected and valiant on paper and at a distance. +If Barbara chose to accept his sacrifice, she should do it in his +presence, looking into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"<i>Has something awful happened</i>?" she wrote in reply. "<i>You do <span class="smcap lowercase">FRIGHTEN</span> +me so, when you write like that! I have to come up on Sunday for a +charity concert at the Olympic, where I'm a patroness or something. If +you really want to see me for only a moment, is it possible for you to +meet me at Winchester? The train gets in at 12.29 and leaves at 12.33 +(aren't I getting clever with the time-table? As a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">{257}</a></span> matter of fact I +made father's secretary work it all out for me). If you'd like to wait +on the platform, I'll put my head out of the window and we can be +together for a moment. Dear Eric, I do hope you're not in any kind of +trouble! When you become telegraphic in manner, I always grow nervous. +Barbara.</i>"</p> + +<p>There was suppressed excitement at the Mill-House on Saturday night, +when he put in a claim for the car, announced his intention of driving +himself and instructed the maids with unusual particularity to see that +he did not oversleep himself.</p> + +<p>"We're being very mysterious," murmured Sybil.</p> + +<p>Eric smiled and said nothing.</p> + +<p>He went to bed early in hope that a long night's rest would steady his +nerves for an interview which would not be the less trying for its +brevity and which, he now saw, had been made inevitably dramatic. It was +a perfect autumn morning, as he climbed into the car, with a scented +mist rising before his eyes, under the mild warmth of a November sun; +Lashmar Woods flaunted their last dwindling recklessness of colour, from +ivy-green through fading red to russet and lemon-yellow. He had a rare +feeling of peace, as he surrendered to the voiceless magic of the still +countryside and to whimsical memories of his own childhood. Life was so +much simpler then! Life would again be so much simpler when he had Babs +driving by his side.… (If he could only drag her from the train and +take her home to astonish and subjugate his parents! It would be worth a +little mystery to effect that!)</p> + +<p>If she dropped like a stone out of his life, he would raise both hands +to Heaven and pray God to take away his reason and draw a sponge across +his memory.…</p> + +<p>Barbara was leaning out of the window, as the train drew into the +station. Eric ran to her compartment; but for a time they were +victimized by the nervous antics of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">{258}</a></span> old lady with cumbrous luggage, +who stood in the doorway calling with shrill helplessness for a porter.</p> + +<p>"I see your play's going to be produced at the end of the month," said +Barbara, waving her hand towards a paper on the opposite seat.</p> + +<p>"Are you coming with me to the first night?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course!" She watched the departure of the old lady with +ill-suppressed eagerness. "Thank goodness, she's gone! What is it, Eric? +Why did you want to see me like this?"</p> + +<p>"I always want to see you!" he laughed uneasily. Ever since he received +her letter, he had been rehearsing an effective little speech; but it +was gone from his mind now, and he found himself nervously clearing his +throat. "Babs, I'm in rather a hole and I want to do the right thing. +For some reason you always talk about my generosity. I've been thinking +it over.… You're absolutely free, Babs."</p> + +<p>"But—why?" she asked blankly.</p> + +<p>"Before writing to you, I'd heard from Jack. He'll probably be in +England within a week. I—don't want you to feel …" He had to leave +the sentence unfinished.</p> + +<p>Barbara had become very pale and for a moment she said nothing.</p> + +<p>"This—doesn't mean that you're—saying good-bye?" she faltered.</p> + +<p>"It's a present, not an ultimatum," Eric answered sharply.</p> + +<p>So she could still try to make the best of both worlds.</p> + +<p>"You've always been wonderfully generous!" she whispered. "I can never +repay you."</p> + +<p>From her tone and phrasing Eric knew that he had failed. His own +sacrifice neither stirred nor shamed her into equal generosity; the +volley was over, and the shuttlecock had dropped to the ground.</p> + +<p>"Have you tried?" he asked sharply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">{259}</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a whistle and a jolt, as the train began to move. Eric stepped +off the foot-board, raised his hat slightly and turned on his heel. +Mechanically he set his watch by the station clock. The train had come +in late, but it was leaving on time.</p> + +<p>"Rather less than two minutes, if anything," he murmured, as he started +the engine. "Five weeks since we became engaged.…"</p> + +<p>Half-way home he steered for a government lorry which was standing +unattended by the side of the road. Something older and stronger than +himself paralyzed the malevolent muscles of his arm, and the car swerved +into safety.…</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>The slavery of centuries and her own short-lived blooming have robbed +woman of open initiative in sex-warfare: she forces man to make the +attack, pretending indifference or ignorance. Instead of striking a +bargain, she then insists on nominal surrender, which never deceives +her. But she is deceived by her own false valuation; she can only see +herself in the image that she makes for the beguilement of man. Vanity +is the strongest thing of all.</i>"—From the Diary of Eric Lane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">{260}</a></span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_NINE" id="CHAPTER_NINE"></a>CHAPTER NINE<br /> +<br /> +<span style="font-size: 75%;">THE EDUCATION OF BARBARA NEAVE</span></h2> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The mob decrees such feat no crown, perchance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But—why call crowning the reward of quest?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<span class="smcap">Robert Browning</span>: "<i>Aristophanes' Apology</i>."<br /> +</p></div> + + +<h3>1</h3> + +<p>In the second week of November Manders began to rehearse "Mother's Son," +and, after two attendances, Eric retired to Lashmar for uninterrupted +work on his American lectures. Jack might reach London any day, and he +could not face a meeting nor wait to be told of an encounter between +Jack and Barbara. His own rash magnanimity had set her free and kept him +in chains; he had always been so indulgent that he more than half +suspected a strain of kindly contempt in her; she had once told him that +they would be miserable together because he would always be too gentle +to keep her in order.… Any day now might see him dismissed like an +outworn servant.</p> + +<p>With native caution he did not pledge himself to stay at Lashmar for a +specified time; that would depend on Jack, on Barbara, on his own work +and a dozen other things. It was essential that he should keep himself +posted regularly in Jack's movements, and he walked over to Red Roofs on +the morrow of his arrival. Agnes gave him all the information that she +possessed, but gave it with reservation, as though she were conferring a +favour; and, when he left, she walked with him to the gate of the woods +and blurted out that she was engaged to Dick Benyon. As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">{261}</a></span> he +congratulated her, Eric remembered their last parting by the sun-dial, +when she had told him not to worry even if gossiping papers coupled his +name with Barbara's, when she had pointed out, too, that they could end +the gossip in a day by ceasing to meet. She did not seem extravagantly +happy; each had lost the other without finding the perfect substitute; +but Agnes, with greater wisdom than he had ever shewn towards Barbara, +had resolved that a secondary place was not enough.</p> + +<p>After that he avoided the Warings, but Sybil returned one night from Red +Roofs with a report that Jack was expected there within three days. He +had seen a specialist in London and was forbidden to attempt any +brain-work for three months; even the easy experiment in Paris had been +a mistake. Eric's mind was busy with excuses to get back to London, for +with Jack as his neighbour, invalided and bored, it would be necessary +to see him daily. The Lanes were, fortunately, too much absorbed in +their own life to be suspicious of sudden changes in Eric's plans; +affectionate regret greeted his announcement that he was returning to +London after the week-end, and his sense of the dramatic was grimly +amused by the thought that his train would pass Jack's somewhere between +Basingstoke and Brooklands.… He might almost be a criminal fleeing +from justice.</p> + +<p>A note from Jack lay on his hall table, regretting that they had not +met, but promising to walk over to the Mill-House the moment that he +arrived. It was followed by another, full of mock-indignation.</p> + +<p><i>"If you don't want to see me, you needn't</i>," he wrote. "<i>But for +Heaven's sake don't bolt to the country the minute you hear I'm coming +to London and then bolt back to London the minute you hear I'm going to +the country</i>."</p> + +<p>Of course it was all badinage; and yet, if Jack knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">{262}</a></span> everything, the +badinage might cover an atrocious hint of his knowledge.…</p> + +<p>"I'm losing my sense of reality!" Eric muttered.</p> + +<p>The same post brought him a long letter from his mother. Jack had come +to tea on the day of his arrival looking very well, on the whole, though +the wound on his head was still visible.</p> + +<p>"<i>He wants to see you</i>," wrote Lady Lane, "<i>and he particularly asked +when you would be down here again. I'm afraid poor Jack is in for rather +a dull time. He was hoping so much to be well enough to work, and the +sentence of three months' complete rest is a great disappointment; but, +if he'll feed up and rest, there's no reason why he shouldn't be as well +as he ever was; I'm glad to say that his uncle has behaved quite well. +After doing <span class="smcap lowercase">NOTHING</span> all these years for him or Agnes or his own brother, +he has at last shewn some decent feeling. If Jack has to be a partial +invalid all his life, Lord Waring will give him whatever money's +necessary to let him live anywhere he likes and take up any hobby he +likes; if he wants to marry (I can't imagine that of Jack), there'll be +a proper settlement</i>.…"</p> + +<p>If Jack, who was certainly not going to be a pauper, probably not even +an invalid, had passed through London without coming to see Barbara, +that meant that he did not want to see Barbara. Perhaps he <i>had</i> seen +her.…</p> + +<p>Eric telephoned to Berkeley Square and found his voice greeted with +surprise and apprehensive pleasure.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were in the country! You <i>are</i> getting restless, Eric! +When did you come up?"</p> + +<p>"Only two days ago. Babs … Jack's in England; he called here during +the week-end, but of course I was away. I … I thought you'd like to +know."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Eric," she answered quietly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">{263}</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a pause which neither liked to break. At last Eric said:</p> + +<p>"He didn't come to see you? Why don't you recognize that it's all over, +Babs? You say that your soul isn't yours and that you owe it to Jack; +well, he's had the chance to come and claim it."</p> + +<p>There was a second pause followed by a sigh.</p> + +<p>"It's hard to explain, Eric. You see, only he and I know how much he was +in love with me before. I was the only person he'd ever cared for.… +Even I didn't understand how much he loved me until that night." She +sighed again. "I don't believe that, after loving me, he could suddenly +cease to love me."</p> + +<p>"You gave him pretty good provocation," Eric suggested.</p> + +<p>"But you don't cease loving people because they behave badly to you. +I've behaved abominably to <i>you</i>. You've given me everything, and all +I've done in return is to make you ill and miserable. I've ruined your +work, your life—you've told me so, Eric. I've been utterly selfish and +heartless. You know I'm vain, you know I'm spoiled, you admit I've +behaved atrociously. But you want to marry me in spite of it all."</p> + +<p>"I love you in spite of it all."</p> + +<p>Barbara said nothing, and her silence was a confession and answer. There +were a hundred reasons why Jack had not come to see her yet; his future +was uncertain, he must wait for a final verdict from his doctor, he was +perhaps still chewing the cud of his resentment. And, when the first +reasons were exhausted, her vanity wove a hundred more in stout, +impenetrable protection against the fantastic thought that any man could +tire of her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish you <i>didn't</i>!" Barbara cried at last. "Why don't you go away +and forget all about me?"</p> + +<p>She had trapped him neatly, as he had no doubt she well knew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">{264}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't forget you," he answered, savagely conscious that he was +presenting her with new weapons. "Whatever you did, you'd be the biggest +thing in my life; I should always need you."</p> + +<p>This time she put her triumph into words.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think that Jack may need me as badly?"</p> + +<p>"He's had his chance.…"</p> + +<p>Eric discovered suddenly that the wire had ceased to throb. Evidently +she had quietly hung up the receiver. In another moment she could only +have offered to say good-bye; and that she would not do. He was +beginning to know her moods and her nature very well.…</p> + +<p>Lighting a cigarette, he was trying to think what he had been doing +before their conversation started, when the telephone-bell rang.</p> + +<p>"Eric? It's me, darling. We were cut off. Eric, don't be bitter with me. +I've never done anything to deserve your love, but it's been so +wonderful that I won't allow you to say anything which will spoil it. +Some day I think you'll look back on it as the biggest thing in your +life."</p> + + +<h3>2</h3> + +<p>As soon as Manders announced the opening night of "Mother's Son," Eric +booked his passage to New York for the following week. For the first +time he informed his parents that he was leaving England and gave them +to understand that he was very fully occupied. There were a hundred and +one arrangements to conclude, fare-wells to take; and, when he applied +to Gaisford for a medical certificate, he found himself packed off to +bed with orders to stay there till the day of sailing.</p> + +<p>"If you'll do what I tell you, I'll do my best for you," said the doctor +sternly. "If you won't, Eric, on my honour I'll wash my hands of you. +Now, which is it to be?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">{265}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shall get up for my own first night," said Eric.</p> + +<p>"You'll do what I tell you. If you're fit to go, you shall go. But I +don't think you'll be in a condition to stand the excitement of it."</p> + +<p>Two days later Eric sent a message to Barbara, reminding her that she +had promised to come with him to the first night and warning her that in +all probability he would not be able to go. The doctor, he explained, +insisted on absolute quiet and absence of excitement. It would have been +more honest to add that the doctor had forbidden him to see any +visitors; but Eric hoped that Barbara would hurry round as soon as she +heard that he was ill and before he could tell her that he was not +allowed to have her there. It was a bitter disappointment when his +secretary brought back a message of sympathy. Later in the day he +received a present of carnations and grapes. It was only when Gaisford +commented on them next morning that his disappointment was mitigated.</p> + +<p>"I saw her the other day," explained the doctor. "She was sorry to hear +you were ill. I told her that I wasn't letting you see any one."</p> + +<p>"Where did you see her?" Eric asked, trying to keep his voice +unconcerned.</p> + +<p>"At her house. The moment I'd left you. I've attended her since she was +a baby, so I felt I knew her well enough to tell her once again to leave +you alone."</p> + +<p>Not until the afternoon of the production did Gaisford relax discipline; +then he admitted rather grudgingly that Eric might go to the theatre if +he refused all invitations to supper and came straight back to bed. He +was to dine at home and he would be wise to leave the house before any +one could call on him for a speech.</p> + +<p>Eric tried to find out whether a box had been reserved for him, but by +the time that he had received a reply from the theatre and telephoned to +Barbara, she was not to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">{266}</a></span> found. Dinner was an agony which he strove +to make as short as possible. Ordinary nervousness was reinforced by +bitter contrasts of this evening with the night when "The Bomb-Shell" +was produced. Then Barbara had dined with him and sat in his box, +comforting him in the torturing first moments before the play had come +into its own; (and he had driven a ring into her poor finger). It had +been a night of triumph for them both. Never, before or since, had they +been nearer.…</p> + +<p>He arrived at the Regency early enough to find the house almost empty. +Hiding himself behind the curtains of his box, he watched the familiar +audience settling in place, recognizing friends, waving and calling out +whispered greetings. Mrs. O'Rane and Colonel Grayle; Lady Poynter and +Gerry Deganway; Lady Maitland and one of her boys.… He started and +drew farther back, though he was already concealed by the curtains. +Barbara had come in with George Oakleigh. They were standing in the +gangway, waiting to be shewn their seats. While George disposed of his +hat and coat, she threw open her cloak and pinned a bunch of carnations +into her dress. They talked for a moment, studied their programmes and +began talking again. After a few minutes George produced a pair of +opera-glasses and took a leisurely survey of the house. Barbara looked +with careless deliberation at the box from which she had watched "The +Bomb-Shell"; seeing no one in it, she looked away as deliberately and +glanced at the watch on her wrist.</p> + +<p>Eric began to open a pile of telegrams. "Good wishes." "All possible +success"; such a tribute had meant much to him when his first play was +produced.… Two thirds of the stalls were full, though no doubt +there would still be enough constitutional late-comers to spoil the +first five minutes of the play. Why people could not take the trouble … +He pulled himself up and went back to the telegrams;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">{267}</a></span> he would not +live through the evening if he began to excite himself like this. But +what he wanted was to have Barbara by his side, to feel her lips at his +ear and to catch her whisper of love and encouragement—"It's going to +be a tremendous success! I <i>will</i> it to be!"</p> + +<p>He would like to catch her eye.… If the first act went even +tolerably, he could allow himself to be seen; perhaps she would come and +sit with him for the other two.…</p> + +<p>The lights were lowered, there was a moment's silence, and the curtain +rolled noiselessly up. Eric sat forward with his eyes fixed on the +stage. Then, as the first line was spoken, he threw himself back in his +chair with a smothered oath. A trim programme-seller was tripping down +the gangway with mincing daintiness—down and down to the very front row +of the stalls. A party of four stumbled after her, whispering and +groping in the darkness, while she gave them programmes and herded them +into their seats. There were whispered apologies, as they squeezed in +front of their neighbours; whispered thanks as one man stood up, +crushing himself back, and another stepped into the gangway to let them +pass. At last they were in place! And then it was time for the two women +of the party to whisper again, gesticulating for a redistribution of +seats. The men fussed and fidgeted, untying their mufflers and rolling +up their overcoats. And then it was time for all four to rustle their +programmes. Every one was looking at them instead of at the stage; there +was nothing else to look at! For three minutes they had blocked the view +for everybody behind them!</p> + +<p>Eric was looking at them himself, first indignant, then startled.… +He could guess the identity of the first woman, though he could not see +her face; of the others there was no doubt. The refraction of the +foot-lights shewed him Agnes Waring, with her father in the next seat; +on the other side sat Jack. There was no mistaking him; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">{268}</a></span> white circle, +the size of a florin, revealed the mark of his scalp wound.…</p> + +<p>After drawing back instinctively behind his curtain, Eric leaned an inch +forward to steal a glance at Barbara. She was in the third row, six feet +behind Jack in a direct line; like every one else she had seen the +late-comers, she could not have failed to identify Jack.… But there +was no sign of embarrassment; she did not lower her eyes or affect +absorption in her programme; she was looking at the stage.… As in +"The Bomb-Shell," there came a sudden laugh, sharp as a dog's bark; it +was followed by other single laughs, by a boom of throaty, good-tempered +chuckling; and the whole house was warmer. Barbara did not laugh, but +her white-gloved hands clapped like a child's. She stopped suddenly and +touched George Oakleigh's arm, pointing ruefully to a split thumb. Jack +Waring sent up a belated rocket of laughter, which started the general +laughter again; Eric saw him burying his head, shamefaced, in his hands; +Barbara was peeling off the injured glove.</p> + +<p>It was conceivable that she had not seen Jack, for she gave no sign of +emotion; and, if she had seen him for the first time in more than two +years, this would be the strongest emotion of her life. Yet she was +watching eagerly, applauding eagerly, wholly engrossed in the play. +Once, when the house was silent and concentrated on the stage, she +looked round with her earlier deliberation and let her eyes rest on +Eric's box. He started guiltily before remembering that she could not +see him. Next she borrowed George's glasses and, after a single glance +at the stage, raked the four boxes on either side.</p> + +<p>"<i>I propose to give the thing a trial. Every one must admit that the +present position is intolerable.</i>"</p> + +<p>The line told Eric that in twenty seconds the curtain would fall. He had +hardly any idea how the play was being received, but, obviously, he must +not allow any one to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">{269}</a></span> see him; he could not stand mouthing inanities to +a box full of people when Jack and Barbara were meeting downstairs or +when they met—unexpectedly—in his presence. They were within six feet +of each other.…</p> + +<p>And they would meet within six seconds.…</p> + +<p>There was a burst of sustained applause as the curtain fell. It rose +again on the full company, fell and rose again on McGrath and Helen +Graye, Constable and Lillian Hartley, Joan Castle and Manders; fell and +rose again on Joan Castle and Manders alone. Evidently this play, too, +was a success. The lights remained lowered, and the company came forward +to take the calls—with the usual pause before Manders made his +appearance, the usual extra half-minute's smiling and bowing. With +practised unconcern he looked for a moment toward Eric's box and then +looked away again, as though he had never expected to see any one there. +With a final low bow he backed up-stage, and the heavy blue curtains +tumbled into place at a half-seen movement of his hand.</p> + +<p>As the lights went up, Eric watched the customary recrudescence of +restlessness. Eager and lazy discussions began; surprised, shrill +recognitions volleyed across the stalls; the men looked at their +programmes to see how many acts remained and tentatively felt for their +cigarette-cases. He saw George Oakleigh lean towards Barbara, glance at +his watch and draw himself slowly to his feet. The movement was a signal +and spur for a dozen others. Barbara moved into his place and called a +greeting to Deganway who was on the opposite side; he stood up and bent +over her, swinging his eye-glass.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Eric found himself trembling. After the usual uncertainty, +which he had been watching with one eye, he saw Colonel Waring and Jack +squeezing past their neighbours. As they turned into the gangway, Jack +stared slowly round him and raised his eye-brows in faint surprise when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">{270}</a></span> +he caught sight of Barbara. They exchanged bows, she held out her hand; +Colonel Waring was introduced, and Deganway excused himself. A moment +later the colonel bowed a second time and withdrew. Barbara pointed to +the empty seat by her side, and Jack stepped across her into it.</p> + +<p>The whole meeting was incredibly suave and unemotional. They were +talking—as any other two people in the theatre were talking—without +any great interest. After a few minutes Oakleigh returned and shook +hands with noticeable warmth; there was a short triangular conversation +before the lights were lowered; then Jack hurried back to his place.</p> + +<p>When the curtain went up on the second act, Eric scribbled a note of +congratulation and apology and sent it to Manders by the hand of a +programme seller. Then he put on his hat and coat and stole out of the +theatre.</p> + + +<h3>3</h3> + +<p>The next morning Eric summoned his solicitor and divested himself of all +domestic ties and obligations as completely as if he were leaving for +the Front. A power of attorney was to be prepared; the books were to be +stored, the wine sold and the flat let if he had not returned from +America within a stated period.…</p> + +<p>"You see, I've more money than I can spend," Eric explained. "It's well +invested, so that, if I never do another stroke of work, I shall have +<i>something</i> to live on. Well, my health's gone to pieces, and I want a +long rest and change. This is my opportunity. I'm thirty-three; and I've +seen nothing of the world outside Europe. If I start by touring from end +to end of America.…"</p> + +<p>He was almost carried away by his own enthusiasm in sketching out the +years of wandering which lay ahead. Central America, South America, the +Pacific Islands, New<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">{271}</a></span> Zealand, Australia, Japan, China, the Dutch East +Indies, Burmah, India.…</p> + +<p>"This is all in confidence, of course," he interrupted himself to say. +"I haven't breathed a word to my people."</p> + +<p>He lacked courage to tell them that he was never coming back. It would +be easier if the advertised three months were dragged out to six, the +six to twelve. The shock would be mitigated; and he would escape a +scene.</p> + +<p>When the solicitor was gone, Eric stumbled out of bed and unlocked the +safe in his dining-room. There was an infinity of papers to be destroyed +and letters to be written. Lady Maitland attacked him at the +ill-disguised prompting of her own conscience:</p> + +<p>"<i>Why have you neglected us for so long? I hoped to see you at the +theatre last night, but Colonel Grayle told me that he thought you were +ill. I'm so sorry; and I hope it's not serious. When you're able to get +about again, will you telephone and suggest yourself for dinner? I want +to talk to you about your play, which I liked quite enormously</i>.…"</p> + +<p>So he was to be lionized again—with no one to share his triumphs.… +The next letter was from Mrs. Shelley; the next from Lady Poynter, +proposing a date in the following week and asking him to telephone.</p> + +<p>"You can accept all these for me," he told his secretary, "or as many as +don't clash with anything else. I—I've got to say good-bye to a lot of +people before I start," he added unnecessarily. "Keep next Wednesday +free for me; I want to get my people up for that."</p> + +<p>If Barbara's engagement was going to be published at once, he felt that +he could not meet Jack after all; at one time it had seemed as though +nothing mattered, but his self-control would break down at such a test. +And Jack's headquarters were presumably still in Hampshire.…</p> + +<p>There was no letter from Barbara next day; and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">{272}</a></span> searched "<i>The +Times</i>" vainly for her name. Lunching with George Oakleigh, he met +Deganway who had neither news to impart nor questions to ask; at dinner +Mrs. Shelley observed with sublime innocence: "You must have been +disappointed not to be able to come the other night. Barbara was there, +and it was she who told me you were ill." The next day brought no +tidings, and Eric had to exert all his strength to keep from writing. It +was inhuman of the girl not to tell him—unless she thought that it +would be easier to bear a month later, when he was three thousand miles +away.</p> + +<p>Four days of silence dulled his capacity for suffering; he felt that he +would not disgrace himself even if some one appealed to him as the +leading authority on Barbara's movements and asked for news of this most +romantic engagement. In a week he would be shivering in the danger-zone, +zig-zagging round the north coast of Ireland. The power of attorney only +awaited his signature, the papers were busily announcing his departure, +farewell letters and invitations were pouring in upon him.</p> + +<p>There was so much to discuss that he found his family easy to handle. +They dined in Ryder Street; and, what with inspecting the flat (which +seemed now to belong to some other life) and raining down questions of +no importance, they contrived not to ask anything that mattered. Yes, he +was going for at least three months—perhaps more, because it would be a +pity to get as far as San Francisco without going on to Japan. Yes, he +would certainly be grateful for any letters of introduction that his +father could give him. Yes, he had bought himself an outfit that would +last him for years in all climates.…</p> + +<p>Amid the primitive interrogation Eric looked up suddenly at his parents +and sister. They and the two boys in Salonica and the North Sea were all +that he had; he was fond of them, and they were devoted to him. His +mother was talk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">{273}</a></span>ing as she had done twenty years ago, when she searched +for holes in his underclothes and socks before sending him back to +school; but he once caught her looking at him as though she understood.… His father had roused from an age-long scholar's dream to remember +a friend who was now a professor at Columbia University. Sybil was as +much excited as if she had been going in his place.… He would never +see any of them again, after they had been everything to him all these +years! And he was sneaking away without telling them that he would never +come back.</p> + +<p>"You'll send us a cable to say that you've arrived safely," Lady Lane +was saying.</p> + +<p>Eric promised quickly and harked back to the letters of introduction. +After trying for so long not to think of Barbara, he found that he must +not think of his own family. They were still expecting him back in +April, "when the weather's a bit more settled."</p> + +<p>"I only wish you weren't going so soon," said his mother regretfully. +"Geoff's due for leave next month."</p> + +<p>"Tell him I was sorry to miss him," Eric answered. "I'm afraid the boat +won't wait for me."</p> + +<p>He walked back with them to their hotel and said good-bye in the hall, +explaining that he was unlikely to see them next day. He had promised to +lunch with Manders and to dine with the Poynters; and, though either +engagement might have been cancelled, he could not screw himself up to a +second parting.</p> + +<p>It was curious to feel, as he walked home, that he was beginning the +last day of his life in London. Only once more would he unlock the +street door and enter the dimly-lit hall which Barbara had invaded +fifteen months before.… In the morning he bade awkward farewell to +his secretary. On his way to luncheon he paused on the steps of the +Thespian, trying to see it as a club and not as one of many places where +Barbara had telephoned to him.… Manders, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">{274}</a></span> course, insisted on a +champagne luncheon to wish him Godspeed; at intervals he asked how long +the tour was to be; and Eric wondered whether a suicide or a condemned +man went through this recurrent sense of parting, recurrently spiced +with surprise. He would never sit in the oak-panelled dining-room again, +never see Manders again.…</p> + +<p>Throughout the ritual of the day he could not grow accustomed to saying +good-bye. It was all so familiar; he never persuaded himself that +everything was over. By an error of judgement he was several minutes +late in reaching Belgrave Square, as when first he dined there. Lady +Poynter protested that she had given up hope of him. Her husband took +him aside to enquire whether he found Gabarnac too sweet, because he had +a bottle on which he would value expert opinion. It was all so like the +night of fifteen months ago that Eric could not believe his passage was +booked and his trunks packed. Lady Poynter began counting her guests +with jerks of a fat, slow forefinger. "Two, three, five, seven, nine, +eleven.… Then there's one more. Ah!"</p> + +<p>She looked over Eric's shoulder as the door opened and the butler +announced:</p> + +<p>"Lady Barbara Neave."</p> + +<p>Under the blaze of the chandelier and amid a chorus of "Babs darling!" +"Hullo, Babs," Eric found no difficulty in remaining composed. She was +the more surprised of the two, for, as soon as she caught sight of him, +she turned to Lady Poynter, crying:</p> + +<p>"Margaret, you must send him home at once! He's been very ill and he's +no business to be out of <i>bed</i>!"</p> + +<p>"But he's going to America to-morrow, he was telling us."</p> + +<p>For a moment Barbara's face was blank. She recovered quickly and +repeated: "<i>To-morrow?</i> I've simply lost all count of time."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">{275}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Including dinner, darling," said Lady Poynter, with a meaning glance at +the clock.</p> + +<p>It was all so familiar that Eric's sense of probability would have been +outraged, if he had not been put next to Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad to see you again, Eric," she whispered: "Dr. Gaisford was +so gloomy about you.… How long have you been allowed out?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a week."</p> + +<p>"And you never told me? You never wrote or telephoned——"</p> + +<p>Eric felt his face stiffening into unamiable lines as he remembered the +agony of the first four days' silence.</p> + +<p>"You never wrote or telephoned to me," he interrupted.</p> + +<p>"The doctor told me I mustn't. He put me on my honour. I'm not sure that +I didn't really break my word when I sent you those flowers." Her hand +stole out and sought his under the table. "Don't you think it would have +been kind to let me know? Don't you think it's possible I may have been +worrying about you?"</p> + +<p>Eric dropped his napkin and picked it up again for an excuse to escape +her hand.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it rather late in the day to begin worrying?" he asked. The girl +winced and bit her lip. "I was only a bit overwrought," he added. "Now +I'm rather less overwrought. There was nothing else to tell you."</p> + +<p>"About America? I saw it in some paper, but I didn't bother about the +date. I didn't think it necessary. Eric—Eric, you <i>weren't</i> going away +without saying good-bye?"</p> + +<p>He turned upon her so suddenly that she was frozen into silence.</p> + +<p>"Would <i>you</i> have had anything to say, if you hadn't promised Gaisford +not to communicate with me?"</p> + +<p>"The usual things, Eric. I'd have told you what I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">{276}</a></span> doing, I'd have +sent you my love. If you're tired of that, darling——"</p> + +<p>"Not <i>that</i>, Barbara!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened wide with distress.</p> + +<p>"Eric, what's the matter? What have I done? Mayn't I even call you +'darling' now?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Are</i> you being quite honest, Barbara?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Eric!"</p> + +<p>"Have you nothing to tell me since last time?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him imperiously and considered her words before speaking.</p> + +<p>"The last time we met? Or the last time we corresponded? Which d'you +mean? The last time we corresponded was when your secretary telephoned +to thank me for the flowers. Before that, you sent me a message by her +that you probably wouldn't be well enough to take me to your first +night.… I'd have come round the evening before if Dr. Gaisford +hadn't made me promise not to. I've always said that I'd come to you +from the ends of the earth if you were ill. When I heard that you +weren't allowed to see any one——"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't as bad as that," Eric interrupted. "Gaisford let me get up +for the first night. I—caught sight of you in the distance. But I left +after the first interval."</p> + + +<h3>4</h3> + +<p>From the end of the table Lady Poynter was making desperate attempts to +attract Eric's attention.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lane, you're the only person who can tell us this——"</p> + +<p>Barbara touched his wrist and nodded past him.</p> + +<p>"Margaret's trying to speak to you," she said.</p> + +<p>Eric galvanized his attention and turned with a murmur of apology.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">{277}</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mr. Lane, is it true that 'Mother's Son' was refused <i>three—times</i>?" +Lady Poynter asked. She could not have been more righteously indignant +if she had been judging the three denials of Saint Peter. "I've never +<i>heard</i> of such a thing!"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't quite in its present form," Eric explained. "The theme's the +same, but I've rewritten almost every word."</p> + +<p>Lady Poynter nodded triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Then I was right!" she informed her neighbour, and Eric was free to +turn again to Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Where had we got to?" he asked, after a moment's embarrassed silence.</p> + +<p>"You came to the theatre after all. You saw me. You left after the first +interval," she reminded him fearlessly. "As you seem to be—drawing an +indictment, is that the phrase?—don't you think you'd better go on?"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing more to say. Once or twice I wondered whether I should +get home alive; and, on my soul, I prayed the whole time that I +shouldn't.… I'm not drawing an indictment. I rather expected to +hear from you.… It wasn't easy waiting.… As for America, I +didn't see how it could possibly interest you.…" He broke off and +whispered to himself, "God! what those days of waiting were like! I +should have thought that, after what <i>you'd</i> been through … in +common humanity——"</p> + +<p>"And if I had nothing to tell you?" she interrupted.</p> + +<p>For a moment Eric did not understand her. For all her self-possession, +there were shadows under her eyes, and she was haggard as on the night +when they first met. Jack's appearance, then, and their conversation +together had made no difference … no difference one way or the +other; she had not telephoned because there was nothing to tell him.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I've anything more to say, Babs."</p> + +<p>An arm interposed itself between them, and he looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">{278}</a></span> down to see what +was being put before him. To his surprise they had only reached the +fish. He seemed to have been dining for an eternity!</p> + +<p>"D'you care to hear what happened?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"What d'you think I'm made of?" he muttered.</p> + +<p>Barbara began eating her fish and telling her story at the same time. It +was short, and she gave it in jerky little sentences. George Oakleigh +had telephoned to say that he had two stalls for "Mother's Son" and +would be delighted if she would dine and go with him.… They arrived +and saw a certain number of friends.… At the end of the first act +George went out to smoke a cigarette.… She had just begun talking +to Gerry Deganway when she looked up and caught Jack's eye.… They +were both so much surprised that they became praeternaturally natural. . +. .</p> + +<p>"I said: 'I've not seen you for a long time. I heard you were home.' He +said: 'I got back a fortnight ago.' I asked him how he was and whether +he'd had a very awful time in Germany.… And he laughed and said he +was glad, on the whole, that it was all over, but that he was a fair +German scholar now—or something of that kind—and he'd never have taken +the trouble to learn another language if it hadn't been for the war.… I think he didn't find it easy to slip away; and I hate people leaning +over me, when they're talking, so I asked him to sit down till George +came back. <i>Then</i> the only thing we talked about was his being wounded +and taken prisoner. I'd heard it all before, of course, but I felt I +couldn't bear it if we both stopped talking.… Then George came +along and shook hands.… And a moment later Jack went back to his +place. You see, there wasn't very much to tell you."</p> + +<p>"But is that all?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely all," she sighed.</p> + +<p>Eric lapsed into silence, wishing that his brain were not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">{279}</a></span> half +paralyzed. Then he glanced round the table, counting their numbers.</p> + +<p>"Say you're too tired to play bridge, Babs," he begged. "Or say you want +to talk to me before I go away; we're such common property here that no +one will be surprised. It's our last chance; we may never meet +again——"</p> + +<p>"But, Eric——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! … I haven't told even my own people. This is not blackmail, +because I arranged it all before I saw you; I never expected to see you +again after that night at the theatre. I was just trying to save +something out of the wreckage.… I'm going away nominally for three +months, but I'm not coming back. I could have got on happily enough, if +you'd never come into my life; but, once you were there, I couldn't get +rid of you. I couldn't go on living in England with you half a mile +away, carved out of my life … meeting you, seeing you—and knowing +that it was all over. I've looked on you as my wife; if you ran away +from me and lived with another man, I couldn't keep on a flat next to +yours.… I felt it at the theatre; I felt I must clear out; I +couldn't sink back to any passionless friendship. So I arranged to go +away and stay away. After three months I shall say that I'm going for a +holiday in South America—or Japan. I've been moving quickly the last +few days. This morning—and this afternoon—I knew that everything I was +doing was for the last time. And since I've seen you——"</p> + +<p>He looked round apprehensively, fearful that he was being overheard.</p> + +<p>"You're going away like this from your people? But they love you, Eric! +They're so proud of you! You'll break their hearts!"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have done it eighteen months ago—before you took my +education in hand," he answered bitterly. "I've given myself heart <i>and</i> +soul to you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">{280}</a></span></p> + +<p>He hardly cared now whether the servants or his neighbours heard him, +and Barbara had to press his knee to restrain him.</p> + +<p>"Then will you do something for me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"I want you to come back. Come back in three months, when they expect +you."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not asking for myself! I'm asking for them. You <i>can't</i> be so +wicked! It's not like you; I don't know you when you talk like this. +You'd break their hearts!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know that this comes well from you, Babs."</p> + +<p>"Nothing comes well from me. But, if I can't undo the harm I've done, I +may at least stop adding to it. If you don't come back … When it's +too late, you'll never forgive yourself."</p> + +<p>He shook his head and looked at her defiantly.</p> + +<p>"You should have thought of that when we first met in this room. Only +one thing will bring me back or keep me from going."</p> + +<p>"Dear Eric, don't start that again!"</p> + +<p>"Thanks! It doesn't amuse <i>me</i> to be strung up and cut down and strung +up again.… I was facing things—till Lady Poynter shewed the +devilish irony to arrange this meeting."</p> + +<p>"Won't you come back for my sake?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"To be told that you're going to marry some one else?"</p> + +<p>"You may not be told that. I don't know."</p> + +<p>Eric was filled with a blaze of anger; he had to pause long before he +could be sure of his voice.</p> + +<p>"You <i>still</i> don't want to let me go? The pathetic invocation of my +mother——"</p> + +<p>Barbara tried to speak and then turned away with a helpless shrug. Eric +woke from a trance to a thunder of opposing voices. Lady Poynter was +retailing the secret his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">{281}</a></span>tory of the latest political crisis and the +fall of the Coalition Government. His wheezing, well-fed host was +attacking the Board of Trade with ill-disguised venom. "They've cut down +imports to such an extent," he was saying, "that in six months' time you +won't be able to get a cigar fit to smoke. I went to my man this +morning—he's a fellow I've dealt with all my life, and my father before +me—he promised me <i>half</i> a cabinet—and then made a favour of it!" +Another voice enquired in a drawl: "What is it exactly that you're +lecturing on, Mr. Lane?"</p> + +<p>Barbara's head was still turned from him, and he resigned himself to the +reshuffle, noticing with surprise that a finger-bowl had been placed in +front of him. He could not remember having eaten anything since the +fish. And he had been drinking the rather sickly Gabarnac without +tasting it.</p> + +<p>"You asked my opinion of this wine, sir," he said to Lord Poynter, +belatedly attentive; in a moment he was swallowed up in a discussion +which dragged its way through dessert until Lady Poynter pushed back her +chair and rustled majestically to the door.</p> + +<p>She was hardly outside the room before his host sidled conspiratorially +into the empty chair next him.</p> + +<p>"Do you know anything of still champagne?" he enquired darkly, as though +he were giving a pass-word.</p> + +<p>"I've <i>drunk</i> it, of course," answered Eric.</p> + +<p>"Of course?" Lord Poynter echoed. "My dear friend, not one man in twenty +thousand of your generation has even <i>heard</i> of still champagne.…"</p> + +<p>It was all wonderfully like that first night fifteen months before. Lord +Poynter explained for the tenth time that he never allowed coffee to be +brought in until the port wine had circulated for twenty minutes. Not +for the first time he apologized for his brandy, retailed the tragedy of +the last bottle of Waterloo and, like a sluggard dragging himself from +bed, reluctantly moved the adjournment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">{282}</a></span></p> + +<p>They arrived in the drawing-room to find three tables set for bridge. +Though he had asked her to talk to him, Eric was relieved to find +Barbara already playing; he had nothing more to say. There was nothing, +indeed, to keep a man whose train left Euston before noon next day. He +waited till Lady Poynter was dummy and then asked her to excuse him.</p> + +<p>"Well, I expect you've a great deal to do," she said, shaking hands +reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eric, aren't you going to take me home?"</p> + +<p>Barbara threw out the question casually, but she found time to look up +and beseech him with her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to be long?" he asked in the same tone.</p> + +<p>"They're a game and sixteen. If you'll smoke <i>one</i> cigarette …"</p> + +<p>In the next hand Barbara was dummy. After spreading out her cards, she +looked round the room, picked up a review and two library novels from a +side table and, after a cursory glance, walked to the piano. The +bridge-players looked up, as she began to sing; an impatient, "It's you +to play, Lady Poynter," passed unheeded; and, one after another, they +laid down their hands.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"<i>One fine day, we'll notice</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A thread of smoke arising on the sea</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In the far horizon,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And then the ship appearing;—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Then the trim white vessel</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Glides into the harbour, thunders forth her cannon.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>See you? He is coming!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I do not go to meet him. Not I. I stay</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Upon the brow of the hillock and wait, and wait</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>For a long time, but never weary</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of the long waiting.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>From out the crowded city,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>There is coming a man—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A little speck in the distance, climbing the hillock.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Can you guess who it is?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">{283}</a></span></i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And when he's reached the summit</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Can you guess what he'll say?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He will call 'Butterfly' from the distance.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I, without answering,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hold myself quietly concealed,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A bit to tease him, and a bit so as not to die</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>At our first meeting: and then, a little troubled,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He will call, he will call:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>'Dear baby-wife of mine, dear little orange-blossom!'</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The names he used to call me when he came here.…</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"My dear, why don't you use that beautiful voice of yours more?" asked +Lady Poynter, as she ended.</p> + +<p>Barbara's face was in shadow, but Eric could see that she was looking +across the room at him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not one person in ten million ever wants me to sing," she laughed, +as she came back to the table.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later she opened her purse, pushed a note across to Lady +Poynter and came up to Eric with a smile of gratitude.</p> + +<p>"I hope I haven't been long," she said. "Shall we see if we can find a +taxi?"</p> + + +<h3>5</h3> + +<p>They crossed Belgrave Square and reached Hyde Park Corner in silence. +Then Eric felt a drag at his arm, and Barbara whispered: "I'm so tired!"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid there's not a taxi in sight," he said. "Shall we go by tube +to Dover Street?"</p> + +<p>"We may meet a taxi. Eric, d'you remember the first time——"</p> + +<p>He shook free of her arm, as though it were eating into his flesh.</p> + +<p>"You felt the evening wouldn't be complete without that—after +'Butterfly'?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Barbara stood still, swaying slightly until he caught her wrist.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">{284}</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm shutting my eyes and thinking of the past, the time when we were +happy," she gasped. "I can't face the present."</p> + +<p>"You can face it as philosophically as I can," he answered. "If love +were stronger than vanity … I don't blame you. I only blame myself +because I was fool enough to believe a woman's word, fool enough to +think that, if I gave her everything, she might give me something in +return; that, if I shewed her enough magnanimity, I might shame her into +being magnanimous. I was hopelessly uneducated in those days."</p> + +<p>Barbara held up her hands as though each word struck her in the face.</p> + +<p>"D'you <i>want</i> to part like this?" she whispered. "Wouldn't you rather +remember the times when I came to you and cried—and you made me happy? +I came to you when I was ill; and you just kissed me or stroked my +forehead, and I was better. And once or twice, when you were ill, I came +to you and laid your head on my breast.… Wouldn't you rather +remember <i>that</i>, darling?"</p> + +<p>"If I could only forget it, I shouldn't regret so bitterly the day when +we first met."</p> + +<p>She swayed again and caught hold of the wooden standard of a porter's +rest. There was still no taxi in sight; Eric felt her pulse and dived +into his pocket for a flask. He had never before noticed the rest of its +inscription in honour of R. A. Slaney, for twenty-six years Member of +Parliament for Shrewsbury.…</p> + +<p>"Take a sip of this," he ordered.</p> + +<p>She drank obediently and thanked him with her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'm better. The first time we met I was fainting in the train. Before I +knew you.… And I loved you and dreamed of your love for me. I used +to hear your voice.… No one will ever look after me as you've done; +no one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">{285}</a></span> will ever understand or love or make allowances for me——"</p> + +<p>As he restored the flask to his pocket, Eric saw that the time was +within a few minutes of midnight; in less than twenty-four hours he +would be at Liverpool; in less than twenty-four minutes he would have +lost the thing that was dearest to him in life.</p> + +<p>"Barbara, you've seen Jack," he said. "He had his chance; he neglected +it. There's the answer we've been waiting for all these weary months. I +don't want to worry you when you're ill, but I can't charge my own +conscience with the knowledge that I've left undone anything which will +stop the present tragedy."</p> + +<p>Though she opened her eyes slowly, there was now no trace of faintness +or exhaustion.</p> + +<p>"He never had a chance! Eric, if you'll think for one moment—in a +crowded theatre, with people listening all round——"</p> + +<p>"He could have written the moment he left Germany. He could have written +or seen you any time since that night. On the night itself he could have +asked you to let him come and see you. He didn't raise a finger! And you +still hypnotize yourself with one excuse after another—How much longer +are you going on?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Eric." She covered her eyes for a moment and then rose to +her feet. "I'm bound in honour, as I've told you a hundred times. When I +know definitely——"</p> + +<p>"Anything you know will have to be known to-night."</p> + +<p>"But if you found a cable waiting for you in New York——"</p> + +<p>"It would tell me what I know already—plus the fact that your vanity +had been convinced in spite of itself."</p> + +<p>"I prefer 'honour' to 'vanity.'"</p> + +<p>"Hadn't we better leave 'honour' out of the discussion?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">{286}</a></span></p> + +<p>She looked at him for a moment, her mouth tightly shut; then, declining +his arm, she began walking slowly eastward. Opposite Bath House Eric +hailed an empty taxi and told the driver to take them to Berkeley +Square.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't like me to drop you in Ryder Street?" Barbara asked.</p> + +<p>"Not even to gratify your love of artistic finish."</p> + +<p>"How you hate me!" she whispered with a catch in her breath.</p> + +<p>"No, I love you as much as ever; I need you more than ever. Whatever +happens to you, I wish you all happiness. You once undertook my +education, but I can tell you that you'll never find the happiness I'm +wishing you till you learn to sink yourself and think of other people."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked at him like a startled animal, then looked away.</p> + +<p>"Haven't I sunk myself, haven't I thought of Jack before any one else +for two and a half years?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"No, you've thought solely of yourself—with Jack as a limelight. At +this moment you're thinking less of Jack or me than of your <i>amour +propre</i>."</p> + +<p>"You must be thankful to be rid of me after the way I've sacrificed you +to my vanity."</p> + +<p>"You'll outgrow your vanity."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Jack still wants me in spite of the way I've behaved to <i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so. I shan't be here to see."</p> + +<p>The taxi turned into Berkeley Street, and Eric held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Barbara," he said.</p> + +<p>"Won't you come in for a moment?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Eric, you must! There's something I want to say to you! Eric, I <i>beg</i> +you to come in."</p> + +<p>He opened the door without answering and stood on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">{287}</a></span> kerb, ready to +help her out. She delayed so long that the driver turned curiously +round.</p> + +<p>"Eric, please!" she entreated.</p> + +<p>"Have you your latch-key?"</p> + +<p>She gave a choking sob, as she mounted the steps, and Eric set his +teeth; suddenly losing control, she gripped him by the arm.</p> + +<p>"Eric, you're <i>not</i> going to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I am."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"That's immaterial. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He returned to the taxi and pressed himself into the corner, staring +ahead so that he should not see the familiar ermine coat on the +door-step. Barbara fumbled blindly with the lock and spun round, as the +taxi began slowly to turn. As the driver changed speed, she dropped her +key and ran twenty yards down the square, crying "Eric!"; but the +grinding of the gears drowned her voice.</p> + +<p>The tail-light dwindled to a ruby pin-point and vanished.…</p> + +<p>The telephone-bell was ringing, as Eric entered his flat. He unhooked +the receiver and tossed it on to his bed; but after a moment's silence +there broke out a persistent metallic buzzing, while the bells in the +other rooms rang with all their accustomed clarity. He began to undress; +but the merciless noise racked his nerves. There was nothing for it but +to tie a handkerchief round the clapper of the bell.…</p> + +<p>Then he threw himself in shirt and trousers on the bed and buried his +face in his hands.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>"<i>A man does not continue drinking corked champagne. With women, his +palate is less critical.</i>"—From the Diary of Eric Lane.</p> +</div> + +<p class='center' style="margin-top: 2em;">THE END</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Education of Eric Lane, by Stephen McKenna + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE *** + +***** This file should be named 29041-h.htm or 29041-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/0/4/29041/ + +Produced by Susan Skinner, Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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