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+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: ASCII
+
+*** 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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SENSATIONALISTS: II
+
+THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE
+
+STEPHEN McKENNA
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+By STEPHEN McKENNA
+
+THE SENSATIONALISTS
+  PART ONE: LADY LILITH
+  PART TWO: THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE
+  PART THREE: _In preparation_
+
+SONIA MARRIED
+SONIA
+MIDAS AND SON
+NINETY-SIX HOURS' LEAVE
+THE SIXTH SENSE
+SHEILA INTERVENES
+
+
+NEW YORK
+GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+THE EDUCATION OF
+ERIC LANE
+
+BY
+
+STEPHEN McKENNA
+
+AUTHOR OF "LADY LILITH," "SONIA MARRIED,"
+"MIDAS AND SON," "SONIA," "NINETY-SIX
+HOURS' LEAVE," ETC.
+
+NEW YORK
+GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1921,
+BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+             TO
+      THE WITTIEST WOMAN
+          IN LONDON
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
+
+     I AN EXPERIMENT IN EMOTION                                       11
+
+    II LADY BARBARA NEAVE                                             52
+
+   III LASHMAR MILL-HOUSE                                             88
+
+    IV INTERMEZZO                                                    120
+
+     V MORTMAIN                                                      149
+
+    VI DAME'S SCHOOL EDUCATION                                       184
+
+   VII EDUCATION FOR THOSE OF RIPER YEARS                            210
+
+  VIII THE STRONGEST THING OF ALL                                    237
+
+    IX THE EDUCATION OF BARBARA NEAVE                                260
+
+
+
+
+THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE
+
+
+    "Because lust was not good enough, the Celt invented romance."
+            --SHANE LESLIE: _The End of a Chapter._
+
+
+
+
+THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ONE
+
+AN EXPERIMENT IN EMOTION
+
+    ". . . A genial . . . bachelor, whom the outside world called
+    selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him. . . ."
+            OSCAR WILDE: "THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY."
+
+
+1
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Over the dressing-table hung a framed poster of his play: "_Regency
+Theatre_" in a scroll of blue lettering: "_A Divorce Has Been Arranged_"
+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 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. . . .
+
+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: "_Best wishes for all
+possible success Agnes._" 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.
+
+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 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 _always_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Hul-lo," he cried, exploring to see whether the bathroom chair was dry.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"If you feel I'm essential to the family happiness----" he began.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, I might," Eric answered. "Good-bye, Sybil."
+
+"You needn't be in such a hurry! What are you doing to-night?"
+
+"I'm being--_extraordinarily_--late for dinner with some people I don't
+know," he answered.
+
+His sister's voice in reply was slightly aggrieved.
+
+"I wouldn't detain you for worlds. I only wanted to know if you'd seen a
+full-page photograph of yourself----"
+
+"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."
+
+"Good-bye, selfish pig. You're being spoilt by success, you know."
+
+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.
+
+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 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. . . . _If_ they became engaged, he would lose in
+interest with the women like Lady Poynter who were always inviting him
+to be lionized. . . .
+
+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:
+
+"Mr. Eric L-lane."
+
+It was intolerable that he could not overcome that stammer, so entirely
+alien to a new young Byron. . . .
+
+
+2
+
+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. . . .
+
+"Angel Marion!" cried Lady Poynter, throwing down her pen so that it
+described an inky semi-circle. "The idea of asking!"
+
+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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"You always say that, darling," she protested gently, leaning forward
+to the mirror and dabbing at herself with a powder-puff. "And it means
+the _most_ delightful----"
+
+"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----"
+
+"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."
+
+"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 _meant_ to invite her, but I felt I must do
+_some_thing. . . ." Lady Poynter projected herself from the sofa and
+rustled to the door, murmuring: "I _must_ find out whether Max is dining
+at home to-night."
+
+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 in time to
+receive any guests who might arrive before his wife appeared.
+
+"Two. Four," he counted timidly. "Babs Neave is sure to be late. That
+leaves only Lane. Does every one know him?"
+
+An indistinct murmur was drowned by Gaymer, who knitted his brows and
+repeated:
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"That is really _too_ 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."
+
+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 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.
+
+"Babs, darling, it _is_ sweet of you to come. I've no party for you,"
+said Lady Poynter, forgiving the girl's lateness and forgetting her own
+discomfiture.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"If _you_'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 _must_ take
+proper care of yourself. And you're nothing but skin and bones."
+
+Barbara smiled again, as listlessly as before.
+
+"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?"
+
+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
+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.
+
+"_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 _has_ been received----"
+
+"It's Eric Lane," Mrs. Shelley explained. "Captain Gaymer was saying
+that he'd left London."
+
+"Oh! I'm sorry. I've never met him," said Barbara.
+
+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 a life that for a year had been empty
+and aching; at the lowest computation, their meeting would have been an
+experiment in emotion. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+Eric shook hands with Lord Poynter.
+
+"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."
+
+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
+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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"Tell me who 'Babs' is," Eric begged in an undertone, as he and Gaymer
+prepared to follow the others down to the dining-room.
+
+"Babs Neave? Don't you know her?" Gaymer asked in surprise.
+
+"Oh, by name, of course. I didn't recognize her."
+
+"She's been rather ill, I think."
+
+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 _matinees_;
+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 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.
+
+"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?"
+
+
+3
+
+"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."
+
+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
+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.
+
+"I expect you're tired of hearing it, but I _loved_ 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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+Eric smiled a little self-consciously; but her deliberate avoidance of
+enthusiasm chilled him after Lady Poynter's extravagant appreciation.
+
+"No one here seems to have escaped it," he said.
+
+"I kept thinking how clever of you it was to write it," she went on,
+half to herself.
+
+Such criticism led to nothing but a second self-conscious smile; and,
+knowing her reputation, he had expected something more stimulating.
+
+"Was it a good house?" he asked.
+
+"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 like them. It
+was a wonderful--" she hesitated and looked at him long enough to see
+that he was perplexed, if not annoyed--"experience."
+
+"I hope you don't regret going?"
+
+"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? _Thirty-two!_ You're ten years older than I am! What in
+the world have you been doing with yourself?"
+
+"That would take _rather_ a long time to tell!" he laughed.
+
+"I don't expect it would. Life is not measured by days, but by
+sensations. . . ."
+
+"Those you experience or those you create?" Eric interrupted.
+
+Barbara turned away and nodded to herself.
+
+"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? _They_ taught you to call me
+a 'sensationalist.' Labels are an indolent man's device for guessing
+what's inside a bottle without tasting."
+
+"They sometimes prevent accidental poisoning."
+
+"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 _bourgeois_ yourself if you want
+to _epater le bourgeois_. Now, _you_ can't have had many emotions, or
+you wouldn't have written that play. And yet--what were you doing
+before?" she demanded abruptly.
+
+"I followed the despised calling of a journalist."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+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.
+
+"What was the precise meaning of the 'Ah!'?" he enquired lazily.
+
+"'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."
+
+"Isn't that rash on half an hour's acquaintance?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I was a dramatic critic for some years. Hence my good press."
+
+"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 _that_, I suppose,
+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."
+
+"I will endeavour to do so, Lady Barbara."
+
+"'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
+_don't_ 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."
+
+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.
+
+"I'm not finding you as thoroughly dull as you warned me to expect," he
+observed, borrowing her candour of speech.
+
+"I should think not! I'm never dull when it's worth while taking any
+trouble. I didn't think you _were_ worth while, till you began talking.
+Then I saw that in spite of the play----"
+
+"I didn't think I should be spared that," he murmured.
+
+"And the poses----"
+
+"Poses?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't think I used the word 'adorers'; and I've _got_ to find time
+somehow to rehearse my new play."
+
+His voice had grown a little stiff. Barbara smiled to herself and
+discovered suddenly that the desire to hurt him was dead.
+
+"When's the new play coming out?" she asked.
+
+"In the middle of next month."
+
+"You can't make it later?"
+
+"Are you afraid you won't be able to attend the first night?" he
+laughed.
+
+"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----"
+
+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.
+
+"And what do you propose to teach me?" he enquired.
+
+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.
+
+"Life!" she cried. "You've never _met_ men and women. I told George
+Oakleigh so that night. That's why the public loves your play."
+
+Eric turned to Lady Poynter.
+
+"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'?"
+
+"Yes! Margaret, darling, any young man may write _one_ successful bad
+play----"
+
+There was a gasp of orotund protest from Lady Poynter.
+
+"My _dear_ Babs!"
+
+"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 _ever_ met a woman,
+Mr. Lane? Have you ever even _fancied_ that you were in love?"
+
+Eric took a cigarette and lighted one for Barbara.
+
+"I thought I knew a lot about life when I was twenty-two," he said,
+studiedly reflective. "I'd just come down from Oxford."
+
+Her attention seemed to have wandered to her cigarette, for she drew
+hard at it and then asked for another match.
+
+"Which was your college?" she enquired with neurotic suddenness of
+transition.
+
+"Trinity."
+
+"Did you know my brother? He must have been up about your time. He was
+at the House."
+
+"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."
+
+Barbara thought for a moment.
+
+"I don't believe I know any one who was at Trinity in your time. Did you
+ever meet a man called Waring?"
+
+"Jack Waring of New College? I've known him all my life. They're
+neighbours of ours in Hampshire. You know he's missing?"
+
+Barbara nodded quickly.
+
+"So I heard. . . . I suppose nothing definite's known?"
+
+"I haven't met any of the family since the news was published, but I
+shall see his sister this week-end."
+
+"Well, if you can find out anything without too much bother----"
+
+"Oh, she's a great friend of mine," Eric explained. "It's no trouble."
+
+Barbara turned to him with a rapid backward cast to her earlier quest.
+
+"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----"
+
+Eric's laugh interrupted her eager outpour.
+
+"I'm quite satisfied to be an observer of life."
+
+"Dear child, you're quite satisfied with _every_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 _see_ how much I should improve him. When he'd learnt
+life at my hands----"
+
+Lady Poynter threw a crushing arm round the girl's waist.
+
+"Come on, Babs. You're looking better than you did," she said. "I _told_
+you you'd fall in love with him," she added, as they walked upstairs.
+
+"There's nothing much the matter with Babs," commented Gaymer meaningly,
+as he shut the door and settled into a chair beside Lord Poynter.
+
+
+4
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Aren't you drinking any port wine?" he demanded of Eric after brooding
+indecision.
+
+"Thank you, yes. It's a '63, isn't it?" Eric asked, as he helped himself
+and passed the decanter.
+
+Lord Poynter's discoloured eyes shone with interest for the first time
+that night.
+
+"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 _not_ an admirer of the
+Jubilee wines. Very delicate, very _good_," he cooed, "but--well, you'll
+understand me if I call them all _women's_ wines. Now, if you _like_
+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. . . ."
+
+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 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.
+
+"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 _ve-ery_ 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 _you_. There
+was a tragedy about my last bottle of the Waterloo. . . ."
+
+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. . . .
+
+Gaymer, too, was growing impatient of his uncle's cellar Odyssey and
+was calling aloud for a cigar, while he scoured the side-board for
+Benedictine.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"Thinking over your wasted opportunities?" she asked, as she sat down
+beside Eric.
+
+"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 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."
+
+Barbara looked at him with a dawning smile.
+
+"I _think_ you're the most insufferably conceited young man I've ever
+met!" she exclaimed.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Well?"
+
+Eric smiled to himself.
+
+"She's the only one here who knows me, but she didn't tell you much."
+
+"I shan't say."
+
+Three impatient voices from the bridge-table met and struggled in an
+unmelodious chorus of "_Babs!_ Come--here!"
+
+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
+_again_!"
+
+As she stood up, Eric rose, too, and said good-bye.
+
+"I have some work to finish before I go to bed," he told her.
+
+"Won't you wait and see me home? Sonia O'Rane's got a brougham, and
+we'll borrow it first."
+
+Eric laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Certainly, if you wish it."
+
+"You're not very gracious," she pouted.
+
+"It was so transparent. You could go with Mrs. O'Rane. Or Gaymer would
+be delighted to find you a taxi. Or you could go on foot."
+
+She drew herself up to her full height.
+
+"Instead of which I humiliated myself by asking a small thing which was
+just big enough to give you the opportunity of being rude."
+
+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.
+
+"I spend hours each day watching people rehearsing this sort of thing,"
+he murmured.
+
+"Why do you _imagine_ I ask you to see me home?" she demanded, with a
+petulant stamp.
+
+"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."
+
+Barbara smiled at him over her shoulder.
+
+"We're a game all," she pleaded, motioning him back to the sofa.
+
+Eric smiled and lit a cigarette from the stump of his cigar.
+
+Ten minutes later they were driving along Piccadilly towards Berkeley
+Square, Eric rather tired, Barbara excited and restlessly voluble.
+
+"Is Mr. Lane going to forget our second meeting as quickly and
+completely as he forgot the first?" she asked.
+
+"The first?" Eric echoed. "This is the first time I've set eyes on
+you--except in the distance at theatres and places."
+
+"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."
+
+Eric turned on her in amazement.
+
+"Was that _you_? Well . . . Good . . . Good Heavens!"
+
+Barbara laughed softly.
+
+"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----"
+
+"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----"
+
+"I've travelled a lot since then," she interrupted. "The whole way
+through Purgatory to Hell."
+
+Eric tried to remember whether the war had robbed her of any one but Jim
+Loring.
+
+"_Since_ that day you've changed so much again."
+
+"Perhaps I'm taking a holiday from Hell. And, as you know, I'm not a
+good traveller."
+
+He let down the window and threw away the end of his cigarette.
+
+"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?"
+
+"D'you think I should be missed?"
+
+"I can well imagine---- Here! He's going wrong!"
+
+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.
+
+"Where d'you live?" she demanded peremptorily; and, when he had told
+her, "Put your head out and tell him to go there."
+
+"But we're almost in Berkeley Square now."
+
+"Do as I tell you! I'm coming to pay you a call."
+
+He disengaged her hands and lay back in his corner.
+
+"It's a little late for you to be calling on me," he said.
+
+With a quick tug and push she had opened the window on her own side
+before he could stop her.
+
+"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 _no_
+intention of going to bed yet," she explained.
+
+"I've no intention of opening the door till I've taken you home," he
+rejoined.
+
+She made no answer till the carriage drew up opposite his flat.
+
+"It would be deplorable if you made a scene on the pavement," she
+observed carelessly.
+
+Then she stepped out and told the driver to go back to Belgrave Square
+for Mrs. O'Rane.
+
+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.
+
+"Am I right in thinking that you're being obstinate?" Barbara enquired
+after some moments of silence.
+
+"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."
+
+"You're almost oriental in your hospitality," she laughed.
+
+"I've no hospitality to spare for a girl of twenty-two at this hour of
+the night."
+
+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 like a child, as she blew out a cloud of
+smoke. Cigarette, shawl and manner suddenly reminded him of Carmen.
+
+"You're so conventional," she sighed.
+
+Eric became suddenly irritable.
+
+"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----"
+
+"I'm so thirsty," she interrupted. "Have you any soda-water?"
+
+"You're sure to find plenty in Berkeley Square."
+
+"But you're _afraid_ to give me any, afraid of being compromised?"
+
+"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 _my_ sister to a bachelor flat----"
+
+"But you _haven't_ invited me!"
+
+"I should horsewhip him," Eric resumed jerkily.
+
+She considered him curiously with her head on one side.
+
+"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."
+
+"Then for the present it's irrelevant. Come along, Lady Barbara."
+
+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.
+
+"But, Eric dear, you can't have _lost_ the key," she expostulated,
+purposefully clear.
+
+Over the shawl her eyes were gleaming with mischief and triumph.
+
+The officer looked quickly from one to the other.
+
+"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?"
+
+"That _is_ 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."
+
+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.
+
+"I'm going to my club, Lady Barbara," said Eric with slow distinctness
+from the door-step.
+
+"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----"
+
+"Yes, Lady Barbara."
+
+"Eric, I always get what I want. Who lives here, do you suppose? We'll
+try his door first."
+
+Eric came in and walked to the foot of the stairs. Barbara slipped her
+arm through his, but he shook it away.
+
+"I'm tired," she explained. "I wish you wouldn't be so rough with me."
+
+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.
+
+He felt the sudden unpitying disgust of a disappointed 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.
+
+"If you'll let go my arm, I'll open the door," he said with stiff
+patience.
+
+She walked into the small inner hall and looked round her with
+unaffected interest.
+
+"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. . . .
+
+"I want to see everything, Eric," she said gently.
+
+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.
+
+"You seem to have put yourself pretty completely into my power," he
+observed, closing the front door behind them.
+
+"I know you so much better than you know me," she answered.
+
+"I don't quite follow."
+
+She laughed gently to herself, then put her arms round his neck and
+kissed him.
+
+"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?"
+
+
+5
+
+Eric led her into the dining-room and gave her a tumbler of soda-water
+with a hand that trembled.
+
+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. . . .
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"But I should _like_ 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."
+
+"This is the smoking-room," said Eric, conscientiously firm and
+unimpressed.
+
+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 _rose Du Barry_ curtains over the two windows; between them 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
+_rose Du Barry_ satin cushions, surrounding a second table.
+
+"I _am_ 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. _And_ 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 _have_ to----"
+
+"Please stay where you are, Lady Barbara."
+
+She crammed the rose carelessly into her hair and dropped on the nearest
+sofa.
+
+"_Do_ take that coat off and sit down here!" she begged him.
+
+"I'm waiting to take you home."
+
+"But I'm not going home yet. I'm enjoying myself, I'm happy."
+
+"I'm waiting to take you home," he repeated.
+
+She pouted and glanced up at him through half-closed eyes.
+
+"You don't care whether I'm happy or not. You're _soullessly_ 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."
+
+Eric took the cigarette and replaced it in its box.
+
+"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 _happiness_----"
+
+His flow was arrested by a startling gasp.
+
+"Oh, it's no good!" Barbara cried. "You're hopeless, hopeless."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Lady Barbara! Lady Barbara! Are you listening to me? You mustn't
+cry--_really_. . . . It takes away _all_ your prettiness. Now, you were
+fairly hard on me at dinner, weren't you? But I do possess _some_
+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,
+_please_ stop crying! I don't know what I said, but I'm very humbly
+sorry. Won't you stop?"
+
+She stiffened herself with a jerk and smiled as abruptly.
+
+"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."
+
+She leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders again.
+
+"Why should I be angry with you?" he asked with a defensive laugh.
+
+Her hands dropped into her lap.
+
+"You won't kiss me?"
+
+"What difference would it make?"
+
+"I ask you to. What difference would it make to you?"
+
+Eric fumbled industriously with a cigarette.
+
+"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 _difference_ would it make?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"It was given me by an uncle of mine. Lady Barbara--If it will give you
+any satisfaction. . . ."
+
+He kissed her forehead with shame-faced timidity and became discursively
+explanatory.
+
+"The candle-sticks were looted during the Commune," he began hurriedly.
+"I was given them as a house-warming present. The clock . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"You can give this to me, Eric," she suggested over her shoulder.
+
+"I'm afraid it was a present. Given me on my first night."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Not--in--the--_least_! I keep this for associations and a toy. If I
+_could_ bring out a play on Friday the thirteenth----"
+
+"If you're not superstitious, there's no excuse for not giving it to
+me."
+
+She tossed the horse-shoe into the air and caught it neatly with her
+right hand.
+
+"I'll see if I can get you another one," he promised, "but I don't know
+whether they're made in England."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, my _dear_! 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!"
+
+"What _does_ it matter?" Eric laughed.
+
+"I wouldn't have done that for the world," she repeated with a white
+face.
+
+"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."
+
+"Perhaps you will some day. And then you'll lift up your hands and curse
+the hour when you first met me."
+
+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:
+
+"Aren't you perhaps exaggerating your potential influence on my life?"
+he suggested.
+
+Barbara went back to her sofa and helped herself to a cigarette without
+hurry or fear that this time it would be taken from her; she smiled for
+a match--and smiled again when it was given her.
+
+"Aren't you perhaps boasting too soon, my self-satisfied young friend?
+Your education's only just beginning."
+
+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.
+
+"I wonder what you think you can teach me," he mused. "I wonder what you
+know, to start with."
+
+"I know life."
+
+"A considerable subject."
+
+"I've had considerable experience."
+
+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
+_aides-de-camp_ and his wife to a dignified but trembling squaw. Barbara
+alone resisted him.
+
+"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 _that_ point
+once and for all with Harry Manders, half-way through the stage-door of
+the Hilarity. Now I've got my own money. Mind you, I _adore_ father,
+and he adores me; most people adore me; but I must do what I like. _You_
+see that now; but I had to shew you, I had to break my way in here by
+main force."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"It's a nervous disease," Eric interrupted shortly.
+
+"Because I cried just now? I was very unhappy, Eric."
+
+"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."
+
+She looked at him and raised her eyebrows without speaking.
+
+"It's wonderful how wrong quite clever people can be," she said at
+length. "I _was_ miserable, I _wanted_ to be kissed, I was _hungry_ for
+the smallest crumb of affection. I wanted to be _happy_. . . . And you
+can only see me as neurotic. D'you feel you're a good judge?"
+
+"Of happiness?"
+
+Eric smiled complacently and again glanced lovingly round the room.
+Barbara sighed in pity and looked at her watch.
+
+"_I_ seem to have come in the way rather," she interrupted.
+
+"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."
+
+"You're not sorry I came? _I'm_ not."
+
+"It was worth while meeting you," he laughed.
+
+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.
+
+"And you'd never kissed any one before," she whispered.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"You'd better not come any farther," she advised him, as they reached
+the end of Berkeley Street. "If anybody _should_ be awake and looking
+out of the window . . ."
+
+He nodded and held out his hand.
+
+"You have your latch-key?"
+
+"Yes, thanks. Good-night, Eric."
+
+"Good-bye, Lady Barbara."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_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._"--From the diary of Eric Lane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWO
+
+LADY BARBARA NEAVE
+
+    "CONSTANTINE: 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. . . ."
+            GRANVILLE BARKER: "THE MADRAS HOUSE."
+
+
+1
+
+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 "_Please
+call me at_----" for "_Please call me at 8.00 (or 9.00 or 9.30)._" There
+was something calculatedly dissolute about the invention (which cost
+L17.10 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 "_Please call me now._"
+
+Eric looked with smarting eyes first at the luminous clock, then at the
+dial. Half-past five, coupled with "_Please call me at eight._" 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 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.
+
+His sleep seemed to be interrupted almost instantly by the arrival of a
+maid with tea, rusks, letters and _The Times_. His head was hot, but he
+was singularly untired; that would come later.
+
+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 _that_ woman, Rhoda? She's God's first
+and most _perfect_ 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.
+
+Eric piled his correspondence under the butter-dish to await his
+secretary's arrival and turned methodically to _The Times_. 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. "_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._" He hesitated
+and drummed with his fingers on the thick creamy pages. "_Took Lady B.
+home rather late and circuitously._"
+
+Then his secretary knocked and settled herself on the edge of an
+arm-chair.
+
+"Good-morning," Eric began. "Will you write first of all to the manager
+of the bank----"
+
+The telephone rang with a dull drone at the foot of his bed, and the
+girl made tentative movements of discreet departure.
+
+"No, you deal with this!" Eric cried. "Out of London. You're not sure
+when I shall be back. Can you take a message?"
+
+The girl picked up the instrument, while Eric glanced again through his
+letters.
+
+"Hullo! Yes. Yes. He's--away, I'm afraid. . . . But, you see, he's
+_away_. . . ." She looked despairingly at Eric. "He's _awa-ay_!" Then
+breathlessly she clapped the receiver back.
+
+"It was Lady Barbara Somebody; I couldn't hear the surname. She said you
+weren't away and she _must_ speak to you. I thought it was best----"
+
+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-_bye_ . . ." very distinctly. And she
+must surely know that she need not beg him not to talk. . . .
+
+"You were quite right," he told his secretary. "Where were we? Oh, the
+manager----"
+
+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. . . .
+
+"Hullo? Mr. Lane is away at present," he said. There was a pause. "I
+told you yesterday, Lady Barbara. Just as when you say 'Not at home.'
+. . . I'm exceedingly busy and I _must_ have a few days to myself.
+Good-bye."
+
+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.
+
+At the other end of the line a gentle, rather tired voice said:
+
+"Don't cut me off. If you _know_ 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----"
+
+"Is it anything _important_?" he interrupted curtly.
+
+"It's very important that you should listen _most_ 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----"
+
+"I've _suggested_ that I'm very busy," he interrupted her again.
+
+"But I don't allow that sort of thing to stand in the way."
+
+"And _I_ don't allow any one to break into my time. Good-bye----"
+
+"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."
+
+"I'm afraid I can't."
+
+"Where _are_ you lunching? At home? Then you can certainly come. . . . I
+don't care _who's_ 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?"
+
+"Yes, to the first; no, to the second," Eric answered. "Lady
+Barbara----"
+
+"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----"
+
+"Lady Barbara, I am going to cut you off," said Eric distinctly.
+
+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 am not discourteous by preference, but you drive
+me to it. La comedia e finita._" 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.
+
+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.
+
+The telephone rang again, and Mrs. Shelley enquired tonelessly whether
+he had received her invitation.
+
+"Oh, Eric! I _did_ hope you could come!" she exclaimed. "Can't you
+reconsider? Poor Babs seems so anxious to see you again."
+
+Mrs. Shelley, then, had the wit to guess where the initiative lay.
+
+"I'm afraid that the privilege of gratifying Lady Barbara's whims----"
+
+He forgot how he had meant to finish the sentence, and there was a
+pause.
+
+"Don't you like her, Eric?" asked Mrs. Shelley. "Most people fall a
+victim the first time they meet her."
+
+"I've outgrown the susceptible age," he laughed. "And, anyway, I'm
+working. It's awfully kind of you to invite me, Mrs. Shelley----"
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"You make it impossible for me to refuse," he said with an uneasy laugh.
+
+"I'm so grateful! I _knew_ you'd come, Eric."
+
+He threw back the bed-clothes and rang for his bath.
+
+"I suppose Lady Barbara will think _she_ knew I was coming, too," he
+said to himself. "I don't mind being made a fool of _once_. . . ."
+
+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 smoke of his cigar, pushed cables, letters, copies and a draft
+agreement across the table.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"'Mornin', Eric. Hullo, Phil! Sinister combination for a poor devil of
+an actor-manager--author _and_ 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.
+
+"I thought Grierson's age and experience might save my play from further
+amateur surgery," Eric explained.
+
+"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."
+
+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
+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.
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+"Now don't you be in a hurry, boy," began Manders. "_Turn_ back to the
+beginning. . . ."
+
+Eric looked at his watch.
+
+"Don't forget we've a rehearsal," he said. "I don't know what there is
+for lunch, but it will be tepid."
+
+"Then let's wait for it to get cold. Now, in the first act you
+said--Damn!"
+
+He flapped the script impatiently on his knee as the now familiar knock
+of Eric's parlour-maid was heard yet again.
+
+"Lady Barbara Neave to see you, sir," she whispered a little
+breathlessly.
+
+"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."
+
+He turned to find Manders smiling, as though to say, "Why didn't you
+tell us? _We_ should have understood. We're men of the world."
+
+"The _first_ act," Eric repeated earnestly. "_As_ you will, but do go
+ahead with it. I want some lunch."
+
+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 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.
+
+"Eric, _please_ 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 _perfectly_, 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!"
+
+She shook hands and waited for Eric to introduce Grierson.
+
+"You're interrupting an important discussion, Lady Barbara."
+
+"Is it about your new play? Oh, then I can help! But, if you knew how
+hungry I was----"
+
+"They're expecting you to lunch at home," Eric interrupted. "You told me
+you had a party."
+
+"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."
+
+As she smiled at Eric with her head on one side, he realized that work
+was over for the morning.
+
+"I daresay there will be enough for four," he answered.
+
+"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.
+
+Grierson and Manders smiled and followed them, carefully brushing
+cigar-ash from their clothes and smoothing the back of their hair.
+
+
+2
+
+Elation battled with annoyance in Eric's mind throughout luncheon.
+Barbara had sought him out, when a hundred 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. . . .
+
+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
+_little_ 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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"Because I want to come," she explained wheedlingly, with her head on
+one side.
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+"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.
+
+She looked at him with the glint of defiance which he had seen once
+before; then she turned to Manders.
+
+"Please, I want to come to the rehearsal," she begged. "It's your
+theatre, Mr. Manders."
+
+"It's my play," Eric interrupted.
+
+She turned her head long enough to say:
+
+"I was asking Mr. Manders."
+
+"But it happens that I also----"
+
+Manders intervened with a clucking noise of the tongue.
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, if I am, I can talk to Eric."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Lady Barbara will promise not to talk," he prophesied. "We're late,
+boy."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Are you angry with me?" Barbara whispered. "You were so _grumpy_ 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."
+
+Eric tried to locate Manders in the velvety darkness before replying.
+
+"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 _very_ busy men."
+
+A sigh fluttered wistfully through the darkness, and he felt her drawing
+closer to him.
+
+"Aren't you a _little_ bit brutal, Eric?"
+
+"Don't you find every one brutal who doesn't fetch and 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I can't _see_ very well," Barbara answered. "If I had a chair on the
+little platform----"
+
+Manders wasted an unseen wink on her.
+
+"Well, you mustn't talk to Eric, that's all. And, if you see you're
+making him nervous, you must run away."
+
+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.
+
+"Who's that, Eric?" Barbara whispered, as he settled into place.
+
+"Mabel Elstree."
+
+"H'm. She doesn't seem to like my being here. . . . Does _everybody_
+call you Eric?"
+
+"You're well placed to answer that. Now, Lady Barbara, remember your
+promise: no talking!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"The next thing is a taxi," he murmured, as they came out into
+Shaftesbury Avenue.
+
+"You wouldn't dream of taking me home and offering me some tea?" she
+suggested.
+
+"I would not, Lady Barbara," he answered cheerfully. "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."
+
+"That would be more--respectable. It's curious how you seem to have made
+up your mind not to do anything I ask you."
+
+"It doesn't seem to make much difference to the result."
+
+She ceased pouting and smiled self-confidently for a moment. Then her
+assurance left her, and she slipped her arm timidly through his.
+
+"Am I being a nuisance, Eric? You said so, and--oh, it _did_ 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?"
+
+"My conscience is quite easy, thanks. Lady Barbara----"
+
+He hesitated and felt himself flushing.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Lady Barbara--, I don't understand you, I don't begin to understand
+you."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+She withdrew her arm and walked for some time without speaking.
+
+"I'm sorry if I'm compromising you with your friends," she said at
+length.
+
+"And whether you compromise yourself doesn't matter?"
+
+"I suppose I'm used to it," she sighed; then, with one of her April
+changes, the sigh turned into a provocative laugh. "If _you_ don't mind
+being compromised by _me_, I'd make you write a _wonderful_ play. My
+technique's so good. All you have to do is to fall in love with me----"
+
+"I shan't have the opportunity," he interrupted. "We meet to-night at
+Mrs. Shelley's----"
+
+"And we were so _positive_ that we weren't going!" she murmured. "You
+don't want to see me again?"
+
+Eric hailed a passing taxi.
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+She seated herself in the taxi and held out her hand through the window.
+
+"You might come and call for me to-night," she suggested.
+
+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." . . .
+
+"I'll meet you at Mrs. Shelley's," he said.
+
+The hand was withdrawn, and he could see her biting her lip.
+
+"I'm sorry," she murmured.
+
+"There's no need to be."
+
+"I was apologizing to myself--for giving you _another_ opportunity of
+refusing something I asked you to do for me."
+
+Eric walked back to his flat, puzzled and irritated. The 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. . . .
+
+Even if you wanted to. . . .
+
+
+3
+
+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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+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 _Utopia Review_; 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 suspected of being pianists and one self-assured
+journalist who told Mrs. Shelley with suitable heartiness that he had
+not _met_ Mr. Lane, but of course he knew his _work_ 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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+"Lady Barbara Neave."
+
+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.
+
+"Am I late, dear Marion?" she asked, with the smile of startled
+recognition which made men and women anxious 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."
+
+"And I've decided to gladden the hearts of my family by going down to
+Winchester," he answered.
+
+"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."
+
+"I make a practice of sleeping in the train," he answered.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 _communique_ 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. . . .
+
+One of his neighbours interrupted the ill-humoured train of thought by
+introducing himself in a pleasant, soft brogue.
+
+"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?"
+
+Eric smiled to hide his impatience.
+
+"Why not ask her?" he suggested. "She's fairly well-known, of course;
+everybody'd recognize it."
+
+"Ah, don't distress yourself! The book's symbolical," 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----"
+
+"We'll ask her, when we get upstairs," Eric answered.
+
+Three tentative chords broke the silence overhead, and a woman's voice
+began to sing.
+
+"_Butterfly_," 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
+_Butterfly's_ as bad as some of the high-brows try to make out. If you
+_like_ that sort of thing, I mean," he added prudently.
+
+Eric held up his hand.
+
+"_Please!_ I want to hear this."
+
+        "_One fine day, we'll notice
+    A thread of smoke arising on the sea
+    In the far horizon,
+    And then the ship appearing:--
+    Then the trim white vessel
+    Glides into the harbour, thunders forth her cannon.
+    See you? He is coming!--
+    I do not go to meet him. Not I. I stay
+    Upon the brow of the hillock and wait, and wait
+    For a long time, but never weary
+    Of the long waiting.
+    From out the crowded city,
+    There is coming a man--
+    A little speck in the distance, climbing the hillock.
+    Can you guess who it is?
+    And when he's reached the summit
+    Can you guess what he'll say?
+    He will call 'Butterfly' from the distance.
+    I, without answering,
+    Hold myself quietly concealed,
+    A bit to tease him, and a bit so as not to die
+    At our first meeting: and then, a little troubled,
+    He will call, he will call:
+    'Dear baby-wife of mine, dear little orange-blossom!'
+    The names he used to call me when he came here_. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"She did that very well. Shall we go upstairs? I should like some more.
+We can take our cigars with us."
+
+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.
+
+"I say, was that you?" he demanded.
+
+She made way for him at her side, welcoming him with a chastened smile
+and wondering at his sudden enthusiasm.
+
+"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 _spite_ of it all----?"
+
+She hesitated, wistfully provocative.
+
+"What's a pity?" he asked.
+
+"What you were thinking; that I am _what_ I am."
+
+"I wasn't thinking that," he answered dreamily. "I was wondering if
+you'd sing again. We couldn't hear you at all downstairs----"
+
+"Enough to bring you up very quickly?"
+
+He sighed with exasperation.
+
+"Yes, if your vanity needs a sop. Was that why you sang?"
+
+She shook her head at him wearily, and he saw undried tears on her
+cheeks.
+
+"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?"
+
+Eric felt ashamed of his rasping harshness.
+
+"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."
+
+"But it's not half-past nine yet."
+
+"I don't care. My dear child, d'you think I can't see that you're tired,
+ill, over-excited----"
+
+"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.'"
+
+"I'm sorry, Lady Barbara."
+
+He tried to rise, but she pulled him back.
+
+"You baby! Can't I make fun of you _ever_? 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?"
+
+"I haven't tried. It would be impossible with you. I--I don't understand
+you. When I was dressing for dinner----"
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't imagine my affection makes any great difference in your life,"
+he interrupted stiffly.
+
+"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 _will_ come home and I'll go _straight_ to bed. But--don't be too
+hard on me, Eric."
+
+Her voice was trembling, and her eyes had again filled with tears.
+
+"May I say that I'm 'not in the habit' of being hard on people? But--I
+don't understand you."
+
+"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."
+
+Eric felt that he was slipping into the practice of letting people make
+a fool of him. . . .
+
+
+4
+
+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.
+
+"I'm going away on Saturday," she reminded him, as they entered Eaton
+Square.
+
+"High time, too," he answered.
+
+"Do you want to get rid of me as much as all that?" she asked in gentle
+reproach.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 paying you a wonderful
+compliment? You're like a woman--not that that's a compliment. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+She looked up with her eyes dark and sleep-laden.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I'll give the matter my best consideration. Go to sleep again, child."
+
+"Dear Eric!"
+
+She roused again as they crossed Piccadilly; and at the end of Berkeley
+Street she again cautiously bade him good-night.
+
+"And about Saturday?"
+
+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.
+
+"Yes, I'll come. Delighted," he said with sudden determination.
+
+"Good-night, dear."
+
+"Good-night, Lady Barbara."
+
+There was time for an unexpected hour's work; but his 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 _Westminster Gazette_ and with the light blazing on to his
+face.
+
+So he found himself five minutes later when the telephone-bell rang. The
+voice of a child, eager for praise, said:
+
+"I'm in bed, Eric. And the light's out. And I'm going to sleep in one
+moment."
+
+"I was actually asleep," he answered.
+
+"My _dear_! And I woke you up? I _am_ sorry. Go to sleep again at
+_once_! Good-night!"
+
+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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"We never see anything of you nowadays," complained Dr. Gaisford.
+
+"I don't have time to get as far away as this for lunch every day,"
+Eric answered, as he pulled a chair in to the table. "You're cutting
+your vacation short, aren't you, Lord Ettrick?"
+
+"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."
+
+Manders looked reflectively at the powerful, lined face, tanned yellow
+over a normally unwholesome white.
+
+"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."
+
+"And what would our young friend do?" asked Dr. Gaisford.
+
+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 _would_ 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. . . .
+
+"If I had my life over again," he answered slowly, "I should
+alter--nothing."
+
+Lord Ettrick looked at him with raised eyebrows, chewing his under-lip
+reflectively.
+
+"I wonder how long you'll say that," he murmured.
+
+A page-boy threaded his way to the table and stood bashfully at a
+distance with a tarnished salver pressed against his buttons.
+
+"Wanted on the 'phone, sir," he whispered.
+
+Eric rose resignedly and followed the page to a dark, ill-ventilated box
+behind the porters' desk in the hall.
+
+"Hullo!"
+
+"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 _divined_ that you'd be lunching at your club. I looked in
+_Who's Who_ to see which it was. . . . How are you, Eric, dear? I
+haven't seen or heard of you since last night."
+
+Eric's utterance hardened and became precise.
+
+"I was asleep then; and I'm at lunch now."
+
+"Who are you lunching with?" she enquired with unabashed interest.
+
+"Oh, nobody that matters! What is it, Lady Barbara? What do you want, I
+mean?"
+
+"I want to talk to you. Don't you _like_ talking to me?"
+
+"At the proper time and in the proper place. I say, you know, this is
+becoming a little bit tiresome."
+
+There was a short pause; then a crestfallen voice murmured:
+
+"I'm sorry, Eric. I'm truly sorry. I apologize."
+
+"Lady Barbara!" he cried.
+
+There was only a dull click, a silence and then a brisk nasal voice
+saying, "Number, please?"
+
+Eric strode wrathfully back to the coffee-room.
+
+"You can't do right with that damned girl," he muttered.
+
+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 away his cigar and asked
+whether any one was walking towards the Privy Council.
+
+"I'm only scribbling one note," Eric answered.
+
+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.
+
+"_Please forgive me_," he wrote. "_I didn't mean to be rude._"
+
+
+5
+
+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. . . .
+
+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. "_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 Saturday, 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 SAY as you THINK: that I have no claim on you. Barbara._"
+
+Eric smiled indulgently and tossed the note into a despatch-box before
+ringing for his secretary. He must be more careful in future. . . .
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _The Times_, a round milliner's box, two
+cheque-books and a volume of Ronsard.
+
+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.
+
+"I didn't expect you so early," she began. "Will you give me a little
+kiss, or am I still a nuisance?"
+
+"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----"
+
+She opened her eyes wide at him in unfeigned surprise.
+
+"My dear, but you should see my bedroom!" she suggested.
+
+"The purple bedroom?"
+
+"Did you remember that? I believe you're beginning to like me, Eric.
+Come and sit down instead of fidgeting."
+
+He paused to finish his inspection, ending up with the nursery
+toy-cupboard on the mantel-piece.
+
+"Hullo! I don't know this one of Jack Waring," he exclaimed on reaching
+a cabinet photograph in a silver frame.
+
+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.
+
+"He---- Give me another match, Eric; this is burning all down one
+side---- It's good, don't you think?"
+
+"The best I've ever seen of him, poor chap. I must get his sister to
+give me one."
+
+"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."
+
+"I should be afraid there's nothing to find out," Eric murmured. "He's
+been missing for weeks."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Not among Waterford glass," he answered. "Except as part of the general
+setting for you."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+("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?")
+
+Lord Crawleigh interrupted an indignant, staccato conversation 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.
+
+("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.")
+
+"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."
+
+Eric grasped a second limp hand, received a quick, business-like nod
+from John Gaymer and found himself confronted by the Duchess of Ross.
+
+"No one will introduce us!" she cried shrilly with a vermillion pout.
+"I've _so_ much wanted to meet you, Mr. Lane. You _wouldn't_ dine when I
+asked you! Won't _some one_ introduce us _properly_!"
+
+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.
+
+"We've heard so _much_ about you from Babs," she said, struggling to
+finish one of her interrupted sentences. "_So_ good of you to bring her
+home the other night."
+
+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.
+
+"Really----," he began.
+
+"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 _she_ has to pay for _my_ weakness."
+
+Eric looked from one to the other.
+
+"I should prescribe three months in the country, bed at ten--and make
+her stay there for twelve hours."
+
+"I should be out of my mind in a week," Barbara protested.
+
+There was a pause, and Lady Crawleigh, with a rueful shrug, turned away
+to speak to Gaymer.
+
+"I _like_ the way you order me _into_ bed and _out_ 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. . . ."
+
+Eric looked round cautiously and lowered his voice.
+
+"Lady Barbara," he began.
+
+"You persist in that?"
+
+"Babs, then----"
+
+"Yes, but you're receiving a favour, not conferring it."
+
+He drew a deep breath.
+
+"You are the most exasperating----"
+
+"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 _be_ exasperated by me!"
+
+Her laughter was irresistible, and Eric joined in it.
+
+"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 _will_ go out of your
+mind----"
+
+"I shouldn't bother you, if I were in an asylum."
+
+Eric stiffened and turned his attention to the food before him.
+
+"You're not an _easy_ person to talk to----," he began.
+
+"Oh, you dear child!" said Barbara, with a gurgle of laughter. "_Two_
+minutes ago it was, 'Ahaw, Lady Crawleigh, I should prescribe . . .' And
+_one_ 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 _claim_ it," she added with a change of tone. "I
+ask it."
+
+"And will you do something for me in return?" Eric asked. "Will you take
+six months' complete rest in the country, drop smoking----?"
+
+"But I told you I should go out of my mind in a week!"
+
+"Will you go for six weeks, six _days_?"
+
+"You want to get rid of me?"
+
+Eric felt his patience ebbing.
+
+"I want to see you looking less of a haggard little wreck than you do
+now," he exclaimed.
+
+"Then I'll go. Thank you, Eric."
+
+From the end of the table Lord Crawleigh's voice penetrated
+authoritatively.
+
+"Barbara! . . . Barbara! Are you coming with us by the 4.10?"
+
+She pressed Eric's hand before turning her head.
+
+"I can't come till the 5.40," she said.
+
+"But, my dear Barbara----"
+
+"I--_can't_, father."
+
+("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.")
+
+"I did wonderful staff-work with Waterloo this morning," Barbara
+confided. "The 5.40 stops at Winchester _and_ Crawleigh."
+
+"I could have told you that," said Eric. "So could Bradshaw, deceased."
+
+"But fancy looking at Bradshaw, when you can persuade some one to look
+at it for you! . . . And you can't get _any_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."
+
+"I told them I'd come by the 5.40."
+
+"But how lucky!"
+
+"How--understanding," he amended.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_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._"--From the Diary
+    of Eric Lane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER THREE
+
+LASHMAR MILL-HOUSE
+
+    "I've come back . . . and I was the King of Kafiristan . . . and
+    you've been setting here ever since--O Lord!"
+            RUDYARD KIPLING: "THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING."
+
+
+1
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 primaeval 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Geoff came home on leave yesterday," said Sybil.
+
+"From Scapa? Oh, good! I haven't seen him for a long time," said Eric.
+
+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 his mother silhouetted
+against the golden light of the hall.
+
+"At last, Eric!" she cried.
+
+"It's good to be home again, mother," he answered, jumping out of the
+car and embracing her.
+
+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.
+
+"Come into the drawing-room," she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.
+"I've got a fire there."
+
+"Nothing's changed," said Eric wonderingly.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"There's nothing much to tell. I've been doing a lot of work, meeting a
+lot of people. . . . It's been rather fun. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"You were _barely_ civil, when I rang you up the other night," she
+interjected, in a pause, with the disconcerting directness of nineteen.
+
+"I was late already, and you were making me later," Eric answered
+patiently. "That night----? Oh, yes."
+
+He detailed Lady Poynter's dinner to his mother and observed an
+expression of mixed curiosity and disapproval settling upon his sister's
+face.
+
+"Mrs. O'Rane? Sonia Dainton that was? H'm," said Sybil. "And Lady
+Barbara Neave. Are you being taken up by _that_ set now, Ricky?"
+
+"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."
+
+"You _have_ made yourself popular with them all at once!" Sybil
+commented. "What's Lady Barbara like?"
+
+"Interesting girl," Eric answered, casually.
+
+"Is she anything like what people make her out to be?"
+
+Eric smiled tolerantly.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"'Evening, everybody," said Eric. "I've been sent to hunt you off to
+dress, father. You asleep, Geoff? If not, how are you?"
+
+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.
+
+"He's got about a year to make up," explained Sir Francis. "The Grand
+Fleet doesn't do much sleeping. Well, Eric, what news?"
+
+"Everything very much as usual," was the answer.
+
+"Everything's always very much as usual here," said his father, as he
+turned out the reading-lamp.
+
+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 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 Athenaeum, 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.
+
+After the restlessness of London, Eric could not at once accommodate
+himself to the leisurely contentment and placidity of Lashmar.
+
+"Wake up, Geoff!" he cried.
+
+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!"
+
+"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 _need_ another one."
+
+It was an old controversy and part of Eric's persistent but fruitless
+campaign against the studiedly Spartan attitude of Lashmar Mill-House.
+
+"It's rather an unnecessary expense. And we seem to struggle on without
+it," said Sir Francis.
+
+"I avoid unnecessary struggles as much as possible," Eric answered
+shortly.
+
+"You couldn't get the work done while the war's on," Sir Francis pointed
+out, rooting himself firmly in the particular.
+
+Eric walked upstairs, reflecting in moody dissatisfaction on unnecessary
+struggles. No one ever laid out his dress clothes for him at Lashmar. It
+never _had_ 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. . . .
+
+Down the passage came the sound of emptying taps and a voice singing
+cheerfully in the bath.
+
+"Don't stay there all night, Geoff!" Eric cried, banging on the door.
+"It's a quarter to eight now."
+
+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. . . .
+
+And the water was tepid. . . .
+
+
+2
+
+"I have been apologizing for you," said Lady Lane pointedly, as Eric
+hurried late and ill-humoured into the drawing-room.
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+That tepid bath had chilled his enjoyment of everything. . . .
+
+"I'm sorry to be late," he murmured, stiffly impenitent.
+
+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.
+
+"Entertaining here always reminds me of a musical comedy," Eric murmured
+to Sybil. "Where one goes, all go:
+
+    "_Oh, we're all of us a-going back to Lon-don,
+     Over ocean; that's the notion_. . . .
+
+"Song and dance. Curtain. Who's the fellow in uniform?"
+
+"Mr. Benyon. A friend of the Warings," Sybil answered. "You're not
+going to be patronizing, _are_ you?"
+
+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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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 _very_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Thanks very much. By the way, can you spare me one of the van Laun
+photographs of him?"
+
+Agnes thought for a moment and then wrinkled her forehead.
+
+"He was never taken by van Laun."
+
+"But I've seen one."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"He gave one to Lady Barbara Neave."
+
+Her forehead wrinkled in deeper lines of perplexity.
+
+"I didn't know he even knew her. . . . He never mentioned her name; I
+suppose he thought I should disapprove."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 on life in a remote
+country-house. He wondered what the party at Crawleigh Abbey was
+like. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"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. '_Naval Occasions_' 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.
+
+Out of the corner of her eye Agnes looked at his mobile, discontented
+face and crumbled her bread in silence for a moment.
+
+"Don't give up coming here altogether," she pleaded.
+
+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.
+
+"I suppose I shall come down from time to time," he answered vaguely.
+
+"I've been so looking forward to hearing about all you've been doing. We
+don't make much history in Lashmar."
+
+It was common ground between them that the Warings 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.
+
+"You're too good for this place, you're wasted," Eric broke out after a
+moment's silent brooding.
+
+"There's not much choice, is there?"
+
+Eric brooded again.
+
+"Are you happy?" he asked.
+
+"Happier than you are, I think," she answered with a smile.
+
+"Why on earth d'you say that?" he asked in surprise.
+
+"You just seem changed to-night," Agnes replied. "Have you been working
+too hard?"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+
+3
+
+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:
+
+"I shall go back on Sunday night."
+
+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 _The Times_, 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I suppose that depends on your definition of fame--and of a rag," Eric
+answered.
+
+"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."
+
+"That sounds more like musical comedy," said Eric doubtfully. "I don't
+fly as high as that."
+
+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.
+
+"I _did_ enjoy your play," said Benyon, moving into a chair by his side.
+"Agnes came up to dine with me, and I took her. . . ."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"The mater told me you'd another thing on the stocks," Geoff went on.
+
+"It's being produced next month," answered Eric.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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 she was very much attached to Eric; he was so unspoiled, so
+charming. . . .
+
+"Aren't you rather proud of him?" she asked.
+
+"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----"
+
+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.
+
+"It's stifling in here," he grumbled; and, after a quick sidelong
+glance, Agnes followed him.
+
+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.
+
+"Remember when we used to have races with paper boats, Agnes?" Eric
+asked suddenly.
+
+She nodded, wondering why he had reminded her.
+
+"What years ago it seems!"
+
+"Only about five. Though we were both old enough to know better."
+
+"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.
+
+"I don't _feel_ a day older."
+
+"You're changed. We were all of us saying that before you came into the
+drawing-room to-night. Your mother's rather worried about you, Eric."
+
+He lighted a cigarette to shew the steadiness of hand and eyes.
+
+"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 _thinking_ of doing, but with you it's
+different. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Bed-time, Agnes," he called out, sniffing the night air. "If you've
+been giving that girl of mine a chill, Eric----"
+
+"You're not cold, are you?" Eric asked her.
+
+"Not very," she answered with a tired and rather disappointed smile.
+
+"Oh, but why didn't you tell me?" he protested in a convincing voice of
+concern, as he led her back into the house 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?"
+
+"_If_," she answered wistfully.
+
+"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."
+
+"I hope so."
+
+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.
+
+"Did you enjoy yourself?" Colonel Waring asked her, as they settled into
+the car.
+
+"Very much, thanks," she answered quietly. "I'm rather tired, though."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Eric started--and wondered why he was standing there in the cold. Then
+he remembered that he had stayed to 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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+Shutting the front door, he went back to the drawing-room, where the
+family was assembled to compare notes and pool information.
+
+"The vicar's starting a class for making bandages. . . ."
+
+"The Warings haven't heard anything of Jack yet. . . ."
+
+"That Benyon must be one of the Herefordshire lot, I fancy. An old
+private bank. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"You look tired, Eric. You'd better go to bed, or you'll never be down
+to breakfast."
+
+"I wasn't thinking seriously of being down to breakfast in any case," he
+answered with a yawn.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 _and_ 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.
+
+"It's in the dining-room," said Sybil, walking reproachfully to the
+door.
+
+"Here! All right! I'll ring," Eric cried.
+
+"The servants are all in bed," she answered. "Or, if they're not, they
+ought to be."
+
+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. . . .
+
+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,
+striking eleven, seemed to rouse and inspire them with a common impulse.
+
+"Don't burn the mid-night oil too long," said Lady Lane, brushing Eric's
+forehead with her lips.
+
+"I simply couldn't sleep, if I went to bed now," he told her.
+"Good-night, mother. Good-night, everybody."
+
+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.
+
+Outside the office his neighbour in the queue overtook and hailed him
+with the words: "What luck?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+I always thought I was a first-class life; I haven't had a day's illness
+in ten years----"
+
+"What did they say?" Eric asked, as the other hesitated in bewilderment.
+
+"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."
+
+"Good-bye! Good luck!" Eric cried.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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, 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.
+
+
+4
+
+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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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 _must_
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _not_ 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. . . .
+
+Why, then, was he not letting her know the result? He reached for his
+despatch-box and settled himself comfortably against the pillows.
+
+"_I promised to see if I could get any news of our friend Jack Waring_,"
+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. . . .
+"_His sister was dining with us to-night, and I am sorry to say_ . . ."
+"_Did you know him well? He was one of my greatest friends at Oxford.
+I remember once_ . . ."
+
+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. "_You must forgive me, if I
+have rather let myself go about him_," he ended. "_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._
+
+"_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 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._"
+
+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.
+
+
+5
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+When he entered the dining-room, a pencilled note in a distantly
+familiar writing was lying by his plate.
+
+"_Now you MUST admit that my intelligence department is good_," he read
+in slanting, irregular strokes which hinted at a recumbent position and
+a writing-block balanced against the knees. "_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 THEN 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 VERY 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'm obeying you to the letter. We've got rather an amusing party here;
+Gerry Deganway and Sally Farwell, my cousin Johnnie Carstairs (perhaps
+ONE pinch too much Foreign Office), Bobbie Pentyre, who's on his last
+leave before going out, his rather tiresome mother, the immaculate
+George Oakleigh. . . ._" Her pen strayed into mischievous comments and
+absurd stories about the house-party. "_But this bores you_," she broke
+off abruptly. "_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 POST MERIDIEM (is that right?) and I'm staying here.
+I'm honestly resting. But--(a new sheet for this)--I've GOT 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 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._"
+
+Eric smiled to himself, as he pocketed the letter and prospected for
+note-paper and an unoccupied table.
+
+"_Your picnic dinner sounds most attractive_," he wrote. "_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._"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+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? _So_ 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: "_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 MYself._"
+
+Eric was amused by her candour and decided to look in for a few minutes.
+
+Lady Maitland, complaining that "_Margaret Poynter always ACCAPARER-s my
+nice young men_," invited him to shew his loyalty by coming to dine on
+Friday. "_Babs Neave is coming_," she added.
+
+As he had intended to spend Sunday evening in the country, he was
+absolved from all work and could give undivided 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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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. . . .
+
+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. . . .
+
+The clock struck eleven; and his parlour-maid came in 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?
+
+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. . . .
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_There are few things so exhausting as the quiet of the
+    country._"--From the Diary of Eric Lane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FOUR
+
+INTERMEZZO
+
+    What hadst thou to do being born,
+        Mother, when winds were at ease
+    As a flower of the spring-time of corn,
+        A flower of the foam of the seas?
+    For bitter thou wast from thy birth,
+        Aphrodite, a mother of strife;
+    For before thee some rest was on earth
+        A little respite from tears
+        A little pleasure of life;
+    For life was not then as thou art,
+        But as one that waxeth in years
+    Sweet-spoken, a fruitful wife;
+        Earth had no thorn, and desire
+    No sting, neither death any dart;
+        What hadst thou to do amongst these,
+        Thou, clothed with a burning fire,
+    Thou, girt with sorrow of heart,
+        Thou sprung of the seed of the seas
+    As an ear from a seed of corn
+        As a brand plucked forth of a pyre,
+    As a ray shed forth of the moon
+        For division of soul and disease,
+    For a dart and a sting and a thorn?
+    What ailed thee then to be born?
+            SWINBURNE: "ATALANTA IN CALYDON."
+
+
+1
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Though the windows were now thickly curtained and a 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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"God," she whispered--and knew that she was dead and had come to be
+judged.
+
+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 mercilessly
+upon her eyes, and she could see that they were alone in Space.
+
+God was waiting for her to confess. . . .
+
+It was idle to confess when God was omniscient, and she kept her lips
+obstinately closed.
+
+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. . . .
+
+"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 . . ."
+
+It was idle to excuse herself when God was omniscient.
+
+"I _didn't_ 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. . . ."
+
+Catholic . . .
+
+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?
+
+She had lost her way in the confession; and God brooded in silence over
+Space and Time, ignoring her, forgetting 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. . . .
+
+"I know it was a lie," she broke out suddenly, "but I _didn't_ 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 _was_ a Catholic now. He'd
+believed me, he'd done this for me, perjured himself. . . . I remember
+saying to myself "If there _is_ a God . . ." I didn't know. . . . "If he
+_has_ 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 _been_
+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 _that_ away. . . . I _didn't_
+realize. . . . Why _shouldn't_ I be happy?"
+
+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. . . .
+
+"I want to get it over. No punishment's as bad as this suspense. _You_
+know that. . . . Won't you tell me what I'm to do . . .?"
+
+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 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.
+
+Barbara fell backwards, pulling the clothes up to her chin.
+
+"Another second . . . and I should have gone mad," she whispered.
+
+Downstairs some one had thrown open a window, some one was playing a
+piano. She turned on the light and rang for her maid.
+
+"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 _bed_ for dinner, but I shan't go down. _That's_ clear, isn't it?
+What's the time?"
+
+"Eight o'clock, my lady."
+
+Then her dream had lasted less than five minutes. . . .
+
+"I'm going to sleep. I shan't want any dinner. Will you bring the
+telephone in here?"
+
+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.
+
+"Well, my dear, you seem to have given poor Merton a fright," said Lady
+Crawleigh. "Is anything the matter?"
+
+"I never felt better in my life," answered Barbara.
+
+"Are you coming down to dinner?"
+
+"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."
+
+Lady Crawleigh bridled at the suggestion.
+
+"That's not at all a respectful way to speak of your father," she
+observed reprovingly.
+
+"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."
+
+Her mother advanced reproachfully to the bed and laid her hand upon the
+rail.
+
+"_If_ 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 _your_ guests."
+
+Barbara felt her own pulse and sighed.
+
+"I'm well enough to write one letter," she said, "and perhaps to get up
+in time for lunch to-morrow."
+
+Then she hunted among the pillows for a pencil and addressed an envelope
+to "_Eric Lane Esq^{re}, Lashmar Mill-House, Lashmar, Near Winchester,
+Hants_."
+
+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 _real_ 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 she had given
+to Eric; the sense of surrender was a novel experiment in emotion.
+
+She finished the letter and switched off the light. Darkness was not
+going to usher in faces to-night. Her soul felt healed.
+
+"You absurd darling child!"
+
+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.
+
+"Dear Eric, I wish you were here now!" she murmured.
+
+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.
+
+"Barbara!"
+
+"Yes, darling?"
+
+She opened her eyes, and their drowsy contentment faded away.
+
+"I only came to see if you were asleep."
+
+"I'm not--now," she answered wistfully.
+
+"Well, why don't you _get_ some decent sleep? You racket about and
+overtax your strength and excite yourself. . . . And this is the
+result!"
+
+"I'll do my best, father."
+
+As he creaked out of the room, she shut her eyes tight 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?"
+
+
+2
+
+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 _feuilleton_ of
+his paper and was studying the advertisements.
+
+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.
+
+"Well, make the most of me, everybody," she said. "I'm going back to bed
+immediately after lunch. What's everybody doing?"
+
+"I've been asleep," Oakleigh answered contentedly.
+
+Barbara looked round her and wrinkled her nose.
+
+"What are you _going_ to do?" she pursued.
+
+"I should like to go _on_ sleeping. . . ."
+
+"Come for a walk, Babs," interrupted Pentyre. "It's my last leave----"
+
+"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 _asked_ me to do anything. Come on, George!"
+
+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.
+
+"Another of my accomplishments," she laughed. "George, what sort of
+reputation _have_ I got? A man was so surprised the other day to find
+that I could play the piano and sing. . . ."
+
+"I know what _I_ think of you," he answered. "Possibly you know it too."
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+"Dear George! You think I'm perfect, don't you?"
+
+"Perfection is meant to be more admired than loved."
+
+"I've nothing but my imperfections to make people love me."
+
+"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."
+
+"Ah, if only I could _undo_. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"You certainly had your share of scrapes, but there was nothing
+discreditable in them. Too much vitality----"
+
+She spread out her hands, white and transparent in the sun-light.
+
+"I'd _done_ 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
+_have_ to come by the 5.40, however inconvenient it may be to
+everybody--just to assert myself?"
+
+"But that wasn't the only reason," George suggested.
+
+"What d'you mean?"
+
+She had ceased to smile, and two faint lines of annoyance were visible
+between her eye-brows.
+
+"I'm sorry. It was no business of mine," said George apologetically.
+
+"I don't mind _you_. But it was no business of the Deganway creature.
+Can't you break his eye-glass or cut a piece off the end of his nose,
+George? Did he tell you who I came down with?"
+
+"Deganway is always thorough in his investigations. I'm sorry I
+mentioned it; I was only teasing you."
+
+"I don't mind _you_," 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _The Times_.
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+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. . . .
+
+But it were useless to fall in love with Eric if she could not make him
+return her love. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"_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._"
+
+It seemed a pity not to exploit a good idea to the full, and she next
+wrote to her cousin Amy Loring.
+
+"_You said the other day that you had never met Eric 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. . . ._"
+
+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. . . .
+
+It was regrettable that she and Eric knew so few people in common.
+
+
+3
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Eric knelt down and played with the kitten until the bedroom door opened
+and Barbara hurried in.
+
+"Glad to see me, Eric?" she whispered.
+
+"I've--noticed you weren't here," he answered. "You're looking better,
+Babs. And I like your kitten."
+
+"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?"
+
+Eric looked at the photograph on the mantel-piece before sitting down.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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----"
+
+"I honestly don't know what you're referring to," said Eric, laying down
+his knife and fork in perplexity.
+
+She looked at him closely with eyebrows raised.
+
+"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?"
+
+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 what kind of intimacy she could have
+formed with the elusive celibate who never spoke to women or discussed
+them. . . .
+
+Something was expected of him. . . .
+
+"It never occurred to me," he said lamely. "Of course, Jack never
+mentioned a word----"
+
+"_He wouldn't_. . . . Jim knew, but _he_ 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 _forget, forget_. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"Babs, dear! Darling Babs!" he whispered. "Don't----"
+
+"Ah, don't tell me not to cry, Eric! I've kept it down, I _have_ been
+brave, but it's sending me mad!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+After a single weak protest she entered into the spirit 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.
+
+"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 _didn't_ 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?"
+
+The film of tears gathered into shining drops and rolled mournfully down
+her cheeks.
+
+"As if _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."
+
+Barbara stared at the fire, and for a moment it seemed as though she
+were again making confession at the judgement-seat of God.
+
+"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 _my_ 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. . . ."
+
+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 head in at the door to ask if he might have supper with her.
+
+"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.'"
+
+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.
+
+"I couldn't _speak_. . . . 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 _had_ to tell him I wasn't in love with him. Then he saw
+everything."
+
+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.
+
+Eerie. . . .
+
+Her attention was captured by the word and wandered away in search of a
+missing line.
+
+    "_It's like those eerie stories nurses tell,
+    Of how some actor on a stage played Death,
+    With pasteboard crown, sham orb and tinselled dart,
+    And called himself the monarch of the world;
+    Then, going in the tire-room afterward,
+    Because the play was done, to shift himself,
+    Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly,
+    The moment he had shut the closet door,
+    By Death himself._"
+
+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.
+
+"Jack was talking about applying for a commission," she went on. "I went
+out on to the terrace, I wanted to _think_. . . . It was no good
+_apologizing_. . . . 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 _could_ 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 . . ."
+
+Eric rose and stood by the fire, resting his head on his hand.
+
+"You offered the only reparation in your power," he said at length.
+
+"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 . . ."
+
+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.
+
+
+4
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"I feel as if my spirit were almost clean again. . . . Will you come and
+see me sometimes, Eric?"
+
+"If you'll go to bed _instantly_, after leaving a note on the mat to say
+that you're not to be called till you ring."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"You might dine with _me_ 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."
+
+"I'd sooner dine with you alone, Eric," pleaded Barbara.
+
+"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."
+
+"There _are_ restaurants," Barbara suggested. "It's quite fairly
+respectable to dine without a chaperon--since the war."
+
+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 _the_ coming
+playwright. You've not seen that thing of his----? My memory's like a
+_sieve_. . . . You must _go_." It was very familiar, but, as the other
+voices fortuitously grew hushed, he heard a new pendant. "But you know
+_her_? 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 _hear_ of it, but he
+doesn't know 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."
+
+"All the restaurants are so crowded nowadays," said Eric.
+
+"But if you telephone for a table----"
+
+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).
+
+"I'll dine with you, if you like," he suggested.
+
+
+5
+
+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
+invited him to call. "_I would give much to have written your play; I
+would have given anything to write it at your age._" Some day, when
+Barbara was in a disparaging mood, he would shew her that jealously
+guarded letter.
+
+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 "_Dined with Lady Poynter_" 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.
+
+"_Took Lady B. home late and circuitously._"
+
+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. . . . "_Dined with B. in her boudoir, the house being in
+curl-papers. She unwontedly communicative, but tired and in need of
+rest._" 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. . . .
+
+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. . . .
+
+He laid aside the diary as the telephone-bell rang.
+
+"Hullo? Good-morning, Eric. Many happy returns of the day!"
+
+"But it isn't my birthday."
+
+"It's our new play, stupid. Are you feeling very nervous?"
+
+"Not in the least. If it's going to be a success, it'll _be_ a success;
+if it's going to be a failure, my feeling nervous won't help things."
+
+"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 _good_ play; I've never said that, have I?"
+
+"I sometimes wonder whether you'll ever say that of any play I write,"
+he laughed.
+
+"Oh, you _will_ 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."
+
+"I certainly shan't jump in after you."
+
+"Not even for the advertisement? Would you miss me, Eric?"
+
+"I'm almost sure to at first," he answered with a laugh. "Babs, I've got
+to get up now----"
+
+"Don't you dare to ring me off, Eric! I want to know about to-night."
+
+"Scott's at seven."
+
+"And what dress would you like me to wear?"
+
+He pondered over the familiar ritual.
+
+"The one I always call the 'fairy queen,' I think."
+
+"Well, say 'please.'"
+
+"'Please.' I must get up now, or I shall be late at the office.
+Good-bye, Babs darling."
+
+"Good-bye, sweetheart."
+
+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 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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+But in all the rehearsals he had never noticed how this opening dragged.
+Manders had never criticized it (one of the few things he _hadn't_ 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!
+
+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 different 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.
+
+Eric felt Barbara's lips at his ear.
+
+"Didn't I say I'd will it for you?" she whispered.
+
+"It might go quite well," he answered, unsuccessfully nonchalant. "Every
+one's in a good temper now."
+
+"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
+_driving_ my rings into my unhappy finger--All right, darling! kiss the
+place to make it well. I could _see_ you weren't enjoying yourself, but
+you wanted me to feel it, too. So sweet of you!"
+
+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!"
+
+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. . . . 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.
+
+"Anything wrong?" he asked.
+
+"Come outside," she whispered.
+
+They walked to a flight of four steps leading through a fire-proof door
+to the wings.
+
+"Where are you going to?" he asked.
+
+"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! _Our_
+play! Oh, Eric, thank God for you and all your sweetness to me!"
+
+He looked up with startled eyes, suddenly tired.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, go on giving me your love! Why _you_ should talk as if you owed
+_me_ anything . . ."
+
+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 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!"
+
+Barbara turned her head and blew him a kiss with the finger-tips of both
+hands.
+
+"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."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_Affection is the most insidious form of self-indulgence._"--From
+    the Diary of Eric Lane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FIVE
+
+MORTMAIN
+
+    "Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
+      For other's weal avail'd on high,
+    Mine will not all be lost in air,
+      But waft thy name beyond the sky.
+
+    My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
+      Though grief and passion there rebel;
+    I only know we loved in vain--
+      I only feel--Farewell!--Farewell!"
+            LORD BYRON: "FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER."
+
+
+1
+
+"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?"
+
+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 _levee_ in their box and the
+triumphant supper.
+
+"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'?"
+
+"I call most men 'sir,' if they're older than I am."
+
+"He was with a girl in a grey dress and some rather good pearls."
+
+Eric thought for a moment and looked at her in some surprise.
+
+"That was Colonel Waring--Jack's father. The girl was Jack's sister
+Agnes."
+
+Barbara did not answer for a moment.
+
+"I thought it was _him_ at first," she whispered.
+
+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.
+
+"She gave me that glass horse-shoe for luck the night my first play was
+produced," said Eric irrelevantly.
+
+"And Jack gave me the counterpart," Barbara sighed. "That's why I wanted
+yours to replace it. Instead of which I only broke yours."
+
+"Well, you haven't broken my luck, as you feared."
+
+Her shoulder, pressing against his, communicated a shudder. Though three
+months had passed without news of Jack, Barbara could not feel secure
+even when she was alone with Eric.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+Looking out of the window, she saw that their cab was opposite the Ritz
+and that she had three hundred yards more of him.
+
+"Does it matter?" she asked. "If you're so independent of me?"
+
+"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----"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"You don't like being alone with me?"
+
+"I'm thinking solely of what would be said."
+
+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.
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+Eric forgave the petulance because he could see that she was tired. But
+he was tired too. . . .
+
+"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 _dine_ with
+me alone."
+
+"I believe you're in love with Sonia," she rejoined ill-humouredly.
+
+"What nonsense! . . . Good-night, Babs. Thanks so much for coming."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"_All success, dear Eric_," he read. "_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._"
+
+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. . . .
+
+"You seem to have mobilized half the club," Eric commented, looking
+with gratification at the growing half-circle by the fire.
+
+"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."
+
+"Is _what_ official?"
+
+"I heard that you were engaged."
+
+Eric's composure poured out of him, and he felt his mouth growing loose.
+
+"Where did you hear that?" he asked with an effort.
+
+"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."
+
+For a moment Eric frowned in perplexity; then his face lightened.
+
+"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."
+
+Lord Ettrick wrinkled his forehead in surprise and shook his head with a
+grim smile.
+
+"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 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."
+
+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. . . .
+
+It hardly lay in his mouth to tell Barbara that she must not compromise
+herself.
+
+A waiter entered with a telegram for Lord Ettrick, which he read and
+handed to Eric.
+
+"_Regret confined bed severe chill all success to dinner and
+congratulations and best wishes to our distinguished young friend._"
+
+It was signed by the one absentee, whose chair still stood empty on the
+opposite side. Eric suddenly remembered Barbara's note: "_Imagine I'm
+sitting by you, darling._" 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. . . .
+
+But she would hardly come dressed as Carmen. And, however she arrayed
+herself, the Thespian Club would not admit her. . . .
+
+"Well, have you thought out your speech?" asked Lord Ettrick.
+
+"I've been thinking about what you said before dinner," Eric answered.
+
+"Don't take it too seriously. You know how people talk."
+
+"Yes, but I don't want them to talk like that about _her_! She's the
+best friend I've got."
+
+He hesitated in surprise at his own vehemence.
+
+"Have you observed one thing?" Lord Ettrick enquired after a pause.
+"Neither of us has mentioned the lady's name."
+
+"Well----"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"I'll propose the King's health now," said Lord Ettrick, "and then we
+can have something to smoke."
+
+
+2
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Shall we go upstairs or sit here?" asked Lord Ettrick. "Manders ought
+to be with us in another half-hour."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Stay a bit longer, boy," Manders begged. "I've only just come."
+
+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.
+
+After a long interval a sleepy voice said: "Yes? My dear, you _are_
+late! I've rung you up again and again. I--Eric, I was afraid you were
+angry with me for sulking."
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+"You're out of breath, sweetheart."
+
+"I came home in rather a hurry. Can you see me some time? I suppose
+you're going to Crawleigh to-morrow--That's no good. Can you dine with
+me on Tuesday?"
+
+"I wanted you to come here on Tuesday."
+
+"You never said anything about it. Will you be alone?"
+
+"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 _without_ a present? I've got a little
+party."
+
+"I should love it. Thank you, Babs. But I want to see you alone."
+
+She was silent for several moments.
+
+"You're very mysterious, darling," she said at last.
+
+"I heard something to-night that rather upset me----"
+
+"About Jack?"
+
+A thrill of expectation had come into her voice.
+
+"Oh, no! It's one of those things that wouldn't matter if we weren't all
+congenital idiots."
+
+"It's not something I've done?"
+
+"My dear child, no!"
+
+"Won't you tell me what it is?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"_Alone?_" Her laugh mocked him without malice. "I insist on bringing my
+kitten."
+
+He joined in the laugh.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"You're a great friend of hers, aren't you?" Amy asked. "Some one told
+me at tea to-day----"
+
+Eric became rigid, and she stopped.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"My dear Mr. Lane, you don't even know what I was going to say!"
+
+"I think I do."
+
+"Then you aren't very complimentary to Babs."
+
+"I feel a certain responsibility towards her."
+
+"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 have been; I've known him all my life, and his
+cousin married my poor brother. . . . Need I say that _quite_ 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----"
+
+"Can't you understand?" he interrupted. "I'm very fond indeed of
+Barbara, but if people talk like this . . ."
+
+"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."
+
+"The position is a little awkward. If people talk, if Lord
+Crawleigh----"
+
+"I think he quite likes you," Amy interrupted.
+
+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.
+
+"I always feel that Lord Crawleigh condemned the world and then allowed
+it to continue existing on day-to-day reprieves," he said.
+
+"That's rather my uncle's manner. He hasn't insulted you yet? He
+_will_."
+
+"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 other capacity . . . The industrious
+ink-slinger, you know----"
+
+Amy tossed her head impatiently.
+
+"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 _don't_ 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.
+
+"I daresay you are. . . . You see, I've never regarded Barbara as
+anything but a wonderful friend. We casually dropped into an
+extraordinary intimacy----"
+
+"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----"
+
+"If your uncle had forbidden me the house?" he suggested.
+
+"If either of you were in danger of losing the other . . . I wonder what
+you think of me, talking like this?"
+
+"I'm grateful."
+
+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
+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. . . .
+
+The imitations were succeeded by more music, and Eric threaded his way
+to the piano where Carstairs and Oakleigh were begging Barbara to sing.
+
+"Honestly, I've no voice to-night," he heard her say.
+
+As he drew near, she seemed to feel his presence and turned with a quick
+smile.
+
+"Can't you manage one?" he asked.
+
+"Well, perhaps one, if you want me to. What shall it be?"
+
+"That thing out of '_Butterfly_,'" Eric suggested.
+
+"I'll sing it, if you like."
+
+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.
+
+
+3
+
+"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 _know_
+I am. The fact is, people are beginning to talk about us. I want to
+discuss what's to be done."
+
+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.
+
+"Do you find it so intolerable to have your name joined with mine?" she
+asked a little wearily.
+
+He looked at her in perplexity. Instead of being embarrassed herself or
+feeling gratitude that he was embarrassed for her reputation, she spoke
+as though the gossipers had conferred a favour upon him.
+
+"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."
+
+"But the rumour hasn't got into the papers yet," she objected.
+
+"I'm meeting it on every hand."
+
+"But, if I don't mind, why should you?" she asked.
+
+"Well, I _do_ 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----"
+
+"You've never asked me," she interrupted.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+They remained without speaking until a maid entered to announce dinner.
+
+"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."
+
+"I can't leave it like that," said Eric, as he accompanied her to the
+dining-room. "A plain statement in the press----"
+
+"It would simply draw attention to it."
+
+"Well, that's one of the solutions ruled out."
+
+"And I'm left with the choice of marrying you--you haven't asked me
+_yet_!--or saying good-bye? There _is_ another alternative, Eric: and
+that is to shew you're too sensible to mind what silly people say about
+you."
+
+Eric shook his head obstinately.
+
+"No good, I'm afraid."
+
+"Well, try to think of something else," she sighed. "Don't spoil our
+evening, sweetheart."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"You're really like a child at a pantomime, Babs," he laughed, when they
+were alone.
+
+She rose slowly and bent over him, touching his forehead with her lips
+and then kneeling beside his chair.
+
+"I'm interested in everything!" she cried. "I love new experiences! At
+least, I _did_. I loved meeting new people, hearing new things--the
+world was so wonderful. And then--I never understood why I went on
+living. . . . _You_ 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."
+
+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.
+
+"In those days you were nothing to me," he murmured.
+
+"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?"
+
+"But do you know what my conception of you is?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"You little--Babs, what's the matter with you?"
+
+She opened her eyes, breathing quickly and holding out her hand to shew
+a vermilion ring with a leprous-white centre.
+
+"_I'd_ put my hand in the fire for _you_!" she panted.
+
+"You little fool!" He was filled with a desire to hurt her for having
+hurt herself. "Look here, Barbara. . . ."
+
+But she had risen to her feet and was pressing the wounded hand to her
+lips.
+
+"You don't _know_ how it hurt!" she cried with a tremble in her voice.
+
+"What good, precisely, d'you think you've done?" he asked.
+
+She snatched a spill from the mantel-piece and thrust it between the
+bars of the fire.
+
+"If you want it again----!"
+
+Eric dragged her upright with one arm and rang the bell.
+
+"We'll have coffee in the smoking-room," he said. "Barbara, what's the
+matter with you?"
+
+She laughed almost hysterically.
+
+"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!"
+
+Eric drew a chair to the fire and lighted her cigarette in silence. Only
+a fool would break that silence for twenty-four hours. . . .
+
+"A bit rash that, isn't it?" he asked, as he cut his cigar.
+
+"You won't ask me anything that I don't want you to," she answered. "And
+you know there are some things I _can't_ give you."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Returning to the other thing," he began slowly. "We've not exactly
+disposed of it, have we?"
+
+"I thought we were going to leave it alone," she answered timidly.
+
+"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.
+
+"I don't want it. Isn't that enough?"
+
+"Certainly. But . . . I don't want to say good-bye, if I can help it."
+
+Barbara looked at him slowly and carefully; she was utterly at fault.
+
+"It's for you to decide," she said.
+
+"There doesn't seem to be any alternative."
+
+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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"Barbara!"
+
+"Oh, can't I even cry?" she moaned.
+
+"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 _any_
+other way out of it----"
+
+"Why can't you let it go on?" she wailed.
+
+"I can't; I suppose I love you too much."
+
+"Too much to give me the one thing--Eric, you're not going to turn me
+away?"
+
+"I'm not going to take risks with your reputation."
+
+"But it would be just the same! If you _put_ your denial 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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Barbara!"
+
+She was still shaken with sobs.
+
+"Barbara, are you listening? You said you'd put your hand in the fire
+for me. Well, did you mean that?"
+
+He snapped the question at her, and she was galvanized to drag herself
+upright on the sofa.
+
+"Yes, I said that."
+
+"You'll do anything I ask?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Won't _you_ trust _me_? 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!"
+
+She stumbled to the door and twisted blindly at the 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.
+
+"You're not going home alone!" he cried.
+
+Half-way down the first flight of stairs she turned with arms
+outstretched like a figure nailed to a cross.
+
+"My darling; it's the last thing I shall ever ask you!"
+
+
+4
+
+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. "_As if I'd murdered her._ . . ." 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.
+
+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.
+
+"_As if I'd murdered her._" 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
+was something in her life to which she would subordinate him. . . . The
+proposal had been checked on his lips.
+
+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?"
+
+"_As if I'd murdered her._" 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. . . .
+
+    "_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._"
+
+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 _Times_, 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.
+
+Half-way to Winchester he grew drowsy and fancied himself in his dreams
+once more kneeling on the floor beside the sofa, with his arms round
+Barbara's shoulders. "_As if I'd murdered her._" His lips were moving,
+as he awoke, and he wondered whether the haunting refrain had escaped
+him.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Eric shrank from the prospect of sleepless hours in an overheated room.
+
+"It's surprising what things _are_ done nowadays," he said without
+committing himself.
+
+"Surprising, yes. But we're rather behind the times in Lashmar. _You_
+wouldn't like me to go alone, would you?"
+
+"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."
+
+As he entered the Mill-House, Eric tried to lose himself in the
+atmosphere of a place where he had spent Christmas 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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"I suppose you're as busy as ever?" she asked abruptly. "The new play
+seems to be a great success."
+
+"I think it's doing quite well," he assented. "I wish I'd seen more of
+you that night, Agnes."
+
+"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."
+
+Without daring to look at her face, Eric tried to discover from Agnes'
+tone whether she had chosen or blundered on such a word.
+
+"She varies," he said judicially. "That night--yes, she was looking her
+best then. Sometimes . . . she's not very strong, you know. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Tired, old boy?" asked Lady Lane, as she stroked his head.
+
+"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."
+
+The girl roused at sound of her name.
+
+"You're getting frightfully old, Ricky. It's time you married and
+settled down."
+
+"I've settled down without marrying. You can't do both, you know."
+
+The drawl in his voice unconsciously irritated the girl.
+
+"Marrying and shaking up is more in your line," she retorted. "You're
+too successful, too rich, too selfish, Ricky."
+
+"My dear, I lead my life, and you lead yours. Why should either try to
+disturb the other?"
+
+"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?"
+
+He smiled lazily at the uncompromising vigour of her criticism.
+
+"To begin with, I don't do it night and day----"
+
+"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 _are_ somebody. Is she going to marry you?"
+
+"I haven't asked her. She's a great friend of mine----"
+
+"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."
+
+"Perhaps I do, but I didn't know it had spread as far as here," he
+sighed.
+
+"Well, you oughtn't to do it; and she oughtn't either," Sybil declared.
+
+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 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?
+
+"_As if I'd murdered her._" What was Babs doing now?
+
+He looked at his watch and pulled himself, stretching and yawning, to
+his feet.
+
+"I shall go to sleep if I stay here," he said. "Is any one going to
+dress?"
+
+Twenty minutes later, when he came out of his bath, Lady Lane was
+sitting in his bedroom.
+
+"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."
+
+Eric propped the letter against his looking-glass, as he began to dress.
+
+"I say, have people down here really been marrying me off?" he asked.
+
+Lady Lane's face, reflected in the mirror, was passive and incurious.
+
+"There was some report in one of the papers, I believe," she explained.
+"I didn't see it myself."
+
+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.
+
+"I wonder if I shall _ever_ remember to bring some more shirts down
+here," he mused. "I've three, four, five that I'll give you for your
+bandage-class."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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----"
+
+His mother was not deceived into thinking that work had anything to do
+with his mood.
+
+"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 . . ."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 "_As
+if I'd murdered her_." . . .
+
+
+5
+
+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 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.
+
+    "_Christmas Eve._
+
+    "_My scarf has just arrived. Thank you for sending it; I'm sorry to
+    have been so careless. And I'm afraid I DID 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._"
+
+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.
+
+And then?
+
+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.
+
+And then?
+
+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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+    "_Christmas Day._"
+
+    "_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._"
+
+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.
+
+The telephone rang, and he was surprised to hear Amy Loring's voice
+instead of Barbara's.
+
+"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."
+
+Eric caught himself resolutely shaking his head at the telephone.
+
+"I'm afraid it's impossible. I've been away for Christmas, and the work
+here----"
+
+"But can't you manage a moment? Look in on your way home."
+
+"I'm very sorry; it's out of the question." He paused and repeated
+lamely, "I'm very sorry."
+
+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 _not_ to do
+it--and in the name of affection and charity!
+
+In the afternoon an unfamiliar voice enquired for him by telephone.
+
+"Lady Crawleigh speaking. Mr. Lane, I want you to do something for me,
+if you'll be so kind. Are you engaged this evening?"
+
+Eric could hardly believe that Barbara had gone the length of appealing
+to him through her mother.
+
+"Well, I have a man dining with me," he improvised tentatively.
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"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----"
+
+"I'm depending on you, Mr. Lane."
+
+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 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.
+
+"I was--very sorry to hear you were ill, Babs," he said.
+
+"I've waited for you so long! Won't you kiss me, Eric?"
+
+He picked up the kitten, affecting not to have heard her.
+
+"What is it? A chill? Your mother said---- No, I don't think she told me
+what it was."
+
+Restraint faltered with every hesitating word, and Barbara pushed the
+kitten's cushion on to the floor.
+
+"Sit down, darling," she begged.
+
+"I must go in a minute," said Eric, gravely consulting his watch.
+
+"Who have you got dining with you?" He hesitated. "Any one?"
+
+"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."
+
+He was still standing; but, without noticing, he had drawn nearer to the
+bed, and she pulled him gently into the chair.
+
+"Haven't you missed me, Eric?" she whispered.
+
+"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."
+
+Barbara's lips curled assertively.
+
+"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?"
+
+He tried to review his position in the moment allowed him before his
+answer would begin to seem hesitating. 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.
+
+"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----"
+
+"Or a public engagement? Is that what you're afraid of?"
+
+"I'm not afraid of it."
+
+She sank lower in the bed, covering her eyes with her hand.
+
+"You've never asked me to marry you," she said quietly, this time
+without a taunt.
+
+"You expressly asked me not to."
+
+"You always--boasted that you weren't in love with me."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+Barbara uncovered her eyes and held her arms open to him.
+
+"I've always loved you, Eric."
+
+"I've been--very fond of you."
+
+"And now you want to marry me?" she whispered, and her eyes shone with
+expectation.
+
+"D'you want me to ask you to?"
+
+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.
+
+"No, I don't," she answered slowly. "I couldn't bear it. You _know_ 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 _want_ to
+marry me?"
+
+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.
+
+"Yes, I do," he answered.
+
+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.
+
+"For God's sake, don't ask me that, Eric!" she whispered.
+
+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.
+
+"You don't want me to ask you that?"
+
+"No! For God's sake, no! If anything happens, Eric--you know what I
+mean--if I _can_, then ask me, please ask me! But not now! I should be
+miserable and I should make you miserable! Eric, be generous!"
+
+Her fingers were pressed deep into her cheeks, and he could see her
+bosom rising and falling.
+
+"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."
+
+She opened her arms a second time. This time he leaned forward and
+kissed her.
+
+"Thank you, darling!"
+
+"And now I'm going to give you your beef-tea. What made you talk like
+this, Babs?"
+
+"I wanted to know that you really loved me."
+
+"You knew that before."
+
+"I didn't! No, Eric, when you said good-bye that night----"
+
+Something in his expression stopped her. He had wholly lost sight of
+their earlier contention, and it was coming back to him--unsettled.
+
+"I'm afraid things are very much where they were that night," he said.
+
+"If I don't promise to marry you, you'll leave me? I can't promise,
+Eric--yet."
+
+There seemed a dim, treacherous comfort in the adverb, and he stayed
+with her.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_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.'_"--From the Diary
+    of Eric Lane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SIX
+
+DAME'S SCHOOL EDUCATION
+
+    "ANN: 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."
+            BERNARD SHAW: "MAN AND SUPERMAN."
+
+
+1
+
+"I don't know how lately you've seen Eric," said Lady Lane, "but I'm
+frightened at the way he's losing weight."
+
+Dr. Gaisford smiled reassuringly and rang for tea.
+
+"I've ordered him a complete rest and change for three months."
+
+"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----"
+
+"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 _he_ won't go away, she shall. There's
+no present cause for alarm."
+
+"I wish I could think that. . . . Of course, you must never tell him
+that I've been talking to you behind his back."
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"You think she's in earnest?" asked Lady Lane doubtfully.
+
+"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."
+
+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 or explanation, that Lord Crawleigh
+decided to teach his countrymen a sharp lesson by withdrawing to the
+south of France until the spring.
+
+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 _mesalliance_. 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.
+
+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 wondered 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. . . .
+
+At the end of March a telegram from Folkestone announced her return and
+invited him to dine with her.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+He stood up and pulled her gently to her feet. Invitingly she craned her
+head forward, offering him her lips.
+
+"About what?"
+
+"Your American tour. The _Vieux boulevardier_ said you were going to
+deliver a course of lectures in America."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+He lighted a cigarette and looked at her with a faint, enquiring smile.
+
+"Eric!" she cried with reproachful warning, though he felt that she was
+enjoying the thin ice on to which they had glided.
+
+As a smile dimpled its way into her cheeks, he tired of the badinage.
+
+"Well, did you have a good time, Babs?" he asked abruptly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"From your description, most things were wanting."
+
+"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 _knew_ the glorious
+feeling of standing bare-foot on hot marble! I wanted _you_, 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!"
+
+Eric considered her with his head on one side and his hands in his
+pockets, cautiously and without committing himself.
+
+"Well, Babs, if you _don't_ always have me at hand for all your moods
+and all your needs----"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+He turned away to knock the ash from his cigarette and to avoid a
+possible change of expression in her eyes.
+
+"My dear, you'll have only yourself to blame."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I don't suppose so," he answered, smiling; but, indefinably, he was
+disappointed.
+
+
+2
+
+The Crawleighs spent a month in London before repairing to Hampshire for
+the summer.
+
+"Make the most of me," said Barbara, when her father's decision was made
+known. "You may never see me again."
+
+"I wonder whether you'd mind," Eric mused. "Don't you sometimes feel
+that I've served my turn?"
+
+"That's a horrid thing to say! If anything took you out of my life . . .
+Say you're sorry this very moment!"
+
+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 concern, Eric was shocked to find himself secretly
+relieved when Barbara said "Only another week."
+
+"I've not seen very much of you," he grumbled inconsistently. "Why don't
+you dine with me to-morrow?"
+
+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.
+
+"I'll come, if you like," she said. "It means throwing over George
+Oakleigh. And I haven't seen him since I came back."
+
+"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.
+
+"Is that very gracious, Eric? I've said I'll come."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I need you still," she answered, wondering at his new irritability.
+
+"You got on very comfortably without me at the Cap Martin----"
+
+"I should have been very uncomfortable if I hadn't known that you were
+thinking of me, waiting for me, loving me, even----"
+
+"And you'll get on very comfortably when you're at Crawleigh Abbey," he
+persisted. "And to-morrow----"
+
+"I've said I'll come to-morrow. Eric, you're not jealous of my dining
+with other people? You're talking as if you were trying to pick a
+quarrel. You were always so sweet. . . ."
+
+"I'm not conscious of having changed," he answered stiffly.
+
+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.
+
+"Don't let's quarrel, darling!" she begged. "_Whatever_ you ask, I'll
+do! But, when I give, I want to give everything. Won't you be patient
+with me?"
+
+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.
+
+"I wonder how long you'd like me to be patient," he murmured.
+
+"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."
+
+"I'm sorry, Barbara. I've made you look quite miserable."
+
+She bent his head forward and kissed him.
+
+"I've never been _really_ miserable since I knew that you loved me," she
+whispered.
+
+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, weighing and measuring, was tiresomely thorough; but at
+the end Gaisford could only suggest change of scene and occupation.
+
+"I'm not a good subject for rest," Eric objected.
+
+"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."
+
+"If I work at all, it ought to be this propaganda job," Eric suggested.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+He had forgotten Gaisford and his advice when Barbara came to say
+good-bye on her last day in London.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I don't know. And Gaisford shouldn't discuss one patient with another.
+He wants me to go to California for six months."
+
+"Then you'll go? You _must_ go!" Barbara's eyes were wide with distress.
+"I insist!"
+
+"I'm thinking it over," he answered, a little startled. "I'm not a bit
+keen to leave you, Babs."
+
+"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!"
+
+"I don't know why California should make the--waiting any easier."
+
+"Ah, don't say _I've_ 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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Nothing yet," she answered. "A long time, isn't it?"
+
+"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 . . .?"
+
+"Of course I will, Eric," Agnes answered. "I don't know _when_----"
+
+Her undramatic courage, reinforced by his own sense of 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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"Somehow I hardly feel----" she began. "Dick Benyon--you remember we
+brought him over to dine with you?--wanted me to come. . . ."
+
+"It can't do any _harm_."
+
+"It can't do any harm, certainly. I'll talk to mother about it."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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----"
+
+"Of August. Last year. Yes."
+
+"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 _he_ was satisfied that it was Jack's signature;
+then they'd know what to do about it or something. . . ."
+
+Eric looked at her unwaveringly and bade her finish her story. He tried
+to tell himself that he had always expected and discounted this.
+
+"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 _by Jack_--_on_ that day.
+What does it mean, Eric? I want you to explain it all."
+
+A voluble waiter was gesticulating and seeking instructions about the
+wine.
+
+"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.
+
+"Let's first hear what Cranborne said," he suggested.
+
+"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 _alive_! That's what I want you to say to me! He's _alive_!"
+
+"He was alive on the ninth of October," he amended.
+
+"Weeks after the push? Then he's alive now! _Isn't_ he, Eric? He _must_
+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----"
+
+"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."
+
+She gulped a mouthful of fish and looked up with brimming eyes.
+
+"Oh, Eric, if you only understood what it meant. . . ." Her expression
+changed to blank fear. "You do _believe_ he's still alive?"
+
+"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!"
+
+
+3
+
+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.
+
+"I suppose you _have_ breakfasted, by the way?" he asked.
+
+"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."
+
+"H'm. You did _not_ take my advice to go right away."
+
+"It hasn't been practicable so far. I may go--quite soon. But I've a
+certain number of things to finish off 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh--a week, if I have to," Eric answered carelessly.
+
+"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 . . ."
+
+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. . . .
+
+He became aware, in mid-reverie, that the doctor had finished speaking.
+
+"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?"
+
+A hint of despair in his voice was not lost on the doctor.
+
+"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. Whatever--odds and ends you have to clear up must be cleared up
+within the next week."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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-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. . . .
+
+Half-way across the Horse Guards' Parade, he encountered George
+Oakleigh.
+
+"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."
+
+"Not since we met at Barbara Neave's," answered Oakleigh. "Where is she?
+I've quite lost sight of her."
+
+"They're all down at Crawleigh," said Eric. Every one _would_ come to
+him as the leading authority on Barbara's movements. "What about the
+Carlton? I can usually get hold of a table."
+
+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. . . .
+
+When Oakleigh returned to the Admiralty, Eric stood aimlessly in
+Trafalgar Square, wondering what to do. It was too late for a _matinee_;
+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. . . .
+
+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. . . .
+
+His sense of time became dulled: Barbara was standing in the doorway
+before he had even thought of dressing.
+
+"My dear! I expected to find you in bed! How _dare_ 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----"
+
+"I didn't mean to work on your emotions," said Eric, as he helped her
+out of her cloak.
+
+"Sweetheart, _whatever_ 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."
+
+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.
+
+"I wanted to talk over one or two things with you," he explained, "We
+shall start fairer if you don't feel you're under any obligation to
+me----"
+
+She caught hold of his hand and kissed it.
+
+"I shall always feel that, Eric."
+
+"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."
+
+Barbara's face grew suddenly grave; and, in a whisper, she supplied the
+date.
+
+"Well, his sister dined with me last n-night----"
+
+Eric stopped as he caught himself stammering, but Barbara laid her hand
+imploringly on his arm.
+
+"Go on!" she cried. "I can stand it!"
+
+"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."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"That's all I know. That's all his people know," he added.
+
+"But October. . . . June. . . . Why hasn't he written?"
+
+"You're assuming he's alive. We don't know. He may have been badly
+wounded, he may have died of wounds----"
+
+"But if he was well enough to write a cheque?"
+
+"I don't pretend to explain it. His sister threshed it all out at the
+bank yesterday; she and I threshed it all out 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."
+
+She nodded and pressed her knuckles into her eyes.
+
+"October to June . . . instead of August to June," she murmured at
+length. "And not a word of any kind. What do his people . . .?"
+
+"He'll now be published as 'Previously reported missing, now reported to
+be missing and a prisoner.' _They_ don't know what to think any more
+than we do."
+
+She sighed and then looked up to him with a grateful smile.
+
+"Thank you for telling me, Eric."
+
+He turned away and moistened his lips.
+
+"You mustn't forget that it affects my own position," he warned her.
+
+The smile faded from her face, and she looked at him with startled eyes.
+
+
+4
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"I hoped God had forgotten me," she whispered. "I've been happy too
+long. What am I to do, Eric?"
+
+"You must follow your inclination."
+
+She sighed and looked away into the shadows beyond the table.
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+"And, if the war ended to-morrow and Jack came back safe and sound next
+week, what then?"
+
+"It depends on him. I gave him my solemn promise, when I was trying to
+make reparation."
+
+"And I don't count at all. After all our love, you could forget me----"
+
+"I could never forget you, sweetheart."
+
+"But--you're willing to _try_?"
+
+"What else can I do? Oh, what a muddle I've made of our lives!"
+
+Eric had determined to be patient and restrained; but his voice,
+uncontrolled and scornful, seemed to come from a distance.
+
+"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!"
+
+Barbara's eyes filled with fear.
+
+"You speak as if you were putting a curse on me!"
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"I know," she answered quietly.
+
+"Well----" He hesitated and then took his plunge. "You've got to decide,
+Babs."
+
+"You must wait till we've heard something definite."
+
+"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----"
+
+He had dropped into unconscious parody, and its technical excellence set
+her writhing.
+
+"_Don't_, Eric! _Please!_"
+
+"You must decide, Babs."
+
+"_No!_"
+
+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 forward, only to pull up before he threw away his victory.
+
+"Eric, _don't_," she cried, as soon as she had mastery of her voice.
+
+"You must decide," he repeated.
+
+"And if I say 'no'?"
+
+"I've said you were under no obligation to me."
+
+"But--you'll turn me away? If I came to you to-morrow and said I'd
+changed my mind----"
+
+"It would be too late."
+
+She steadied herself and turned round, bending for her gloves and then
+drawing herself upright to face him.
+
+"I . . . can't . . . now, Eric. . . . Is it still raining? If it is, I'd
+better have a taxi."
+
+"I'll see if I can get you one."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+"_Darling Babs_," he began. A hot tear splashed on to the paper, and he
+reached for a fresh sheet. "_Darling Babs, It was your choice. I pray
+God that you will find greater happiness elsewhere._ . . ."
+
+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. . . .
+
+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. . . .
+
+With a strangely uncontrolled hand he wrote--"_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._ . . ."
+
+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. "_May God make you
+happier than I've been able to do!_"
+
+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.
+
+"I hear Mr. Lane's not well. Do you think he could see me for a moment?"
+
+"I'll enquire, my lady."
+
+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.
+
+"Eric, what's the matter?" she asked, coming to his bedside.
+
+In trying to speak softly her voice, already hoarse, disappeared
+altogether and she rubbed her throat wonderingly.
+
+"What's the matter with us both?" he asked weakly. "Babs . . ." His
+voice broke. "You look like death!"
+
+Before she turned her face, he could see that she was biting her lip.
+
+"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.
+
+He raised himself on his pillows, stretching out hands that twitched.
+
+"You _haven't_, Babs! If you want me----"
+
+"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 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."
+
+She pulled a chair to the bed and gave him her hand, which he covered
+with kisses.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"_I've_ 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?"
+
+Eric thought over the change that had come upon them since Christmas.
+
+"No. I can't afford it," he answered wearily.
+
+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.
+
+"See if you can't sleep, Eric," she whispered, as he opened twitching
+lids to take stock of her.
+
+Pity, or some kind of maternal love, then, survived his defeat. . . .
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_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 DAME DE PIQUE 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._ . . ."--From
+    the Diary of Eric Lane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SEVEN
+
+EDUCATION FOR THOSE OF RIPER YEARS
+
+    "Verily when an author can approve his wife she was deserving of a
+    better fate."
+            LEONARD MERRICK: "WHEN LOVE FLIES OUT O' THE WINDOW."
+
+
+1
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"It gives me a headache even to think of work," said Eric, his brain
+half-paralyzed with bromide.
+
+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; 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. . . .
+
+"Poisoned rat in a hole," he whispered to himself. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"You told me you had a novel on the stocks," said Gaisford. "I suppose
+you wouldn't let me see it?"
+
+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.
+
+"I hope you're not writing yourself out," he added.
+
+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.
+
+"One can't always be at concert-pitch," he sighed.
+
+"Then you mustn't go on to the platform till you are."
+
+"It's easy to see you've never been a journalist! The agony, the
+violence to soul, when you _have_ to come up to scratch, when your copy
+_has_ 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 beginning 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!"
+
+"Well, the public pays me its two guineas and expects _me_ to be always
+at _my_ 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."
+
+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 _he_ 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.
+
+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 family. 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. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"You know, Gaisford, it's not the least use telling me to do nothing,"
+Eric answered jauntily. "I'm not built that way."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Not at the moment."
+
+"What _are_ you going to do?"
+
+"I'm going back to my office, if I'm still wanted."
+
+Gaisford shrugged his shoulders ruefully.
+
+"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."
+
+"I've been working very hard; but I'm rather pleased with the results."
+
+"I hope it's nothing like that novel you shewed me," said the doctor
+gloomily.
+
+"I'll send you the script when I get it back from Manders," Eric
+promised with a laugh.
+
+
+2
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+    "_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._"
+
+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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+When the men were alone after dinner, Eric's heart missed a beat and he
+gripped the arms of his chair. The 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.
+
+"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--_yet_. You see, we've been through the
+racket once. . . ."
+
+"You don't know for certain, then?" Eric asked and wondered whether he
+was imagining a tremor in his voice.
+
+"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 . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"I don't for one moment suppose that this is the only case." Colonel
+Waring was commenting.
+
+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 liverish tinge of yellow which settled on his face in
+cold weather had wholly departed.
+
+"Would you mind giving me the dates again?" said Eric.
+
+"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. . . ."
+
+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 lest he tried to
+describe the barbarism of which he had been made a victim. . . .
+
+"I've got that straight so far," said Eric slowly, "Now tell me what I
+can do."
+
+If the worst came to the worst, he would at least try to surrender his
+claim on Barbara with a good grace.
+
+"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?"
+
+"If I don't know any one, I can soon _get_ to know the right man."
+
+"We shall be very grateful. Meanwhile don't talk about it--to anybody."
+
+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.
+
+Eric sent a report to Colonel Waring and wrote to Barbara that night for
+the first time in three months. "_I want you to know as soon as possible
+that Jack was alive last 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._"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"I wanted to talk about this play of yours," he explained. "Well, can
+you lunch to-morrow, say, half-past one?"
+
+"Yes. I should like to. What do you think of it, Manders?"
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"It's too long to discuss now."
+
+"You can just say whether you like it or not."
+
+"I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. Cheerio, boy."
+
+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 _was_ the best thing he had done. . . .
+
+
+3
+
+When he reached the club next day, Eric found that Manders had arrived
+before him and was ordering luncheon for both.
+
+"D'you like the '06 Ruinart, or is it too dry for you?" he asked.
+
+"Nothing's too dry for me," Eric answered, "but I decline to drink
+champagne at lunch. I've work to do this afternoon."
+
+His host smiled persuasively and continued to write his bill.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I was only a bit run down," Eric answered. "What did you think of the
+play?"
+
+Manders gave his bill to a waiter and planted his elbows on the table,
+pressing his finger-tips together.
+
+"Well, I read it very carefully," he began. "By the way, before I forget
+it, 'The Bomb-Shell's' doing very well on tour."
+
+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."
+
+"Well, let's keep the wolf from the door as long as we can."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"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?"
+
+"Not immediately. I knocked off all my other work and concentrated on
+this thing day and night for three months."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"I managed to crowd about three years into the three months."
+
+"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----"
+
+"You don't like it?" Eric interrupted. "Why not?"
+
+"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."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"We don't mince matters at rehearsal," he said with a breathless laugh.
+"You think the play's hopeless?"
+
+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.
+
+"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 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?"
+
+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.
+
+"I wonder--_why_," he murmured faintly.
+
+Manders shrugged his shoulders and filled both glasses encouragingly.
+
+"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----"
+
+His aposiopesis suggested that there would be uproar and danger to life.
+
+"What had I better do?" Eric asked weakly.
+
+"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?"
+
+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. . . .
+
+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 "Divorce" with bland
+patronage. And every one at the Thespian would be tactful and
+considerate.
+
+"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."
+
+"Take a holiday and don't talk rot!"
+
+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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+"I'm not _sure_ that her ladyship's dressed yet. . . . If you wouldn't
+mind waiting, sir. . . . I _have_ taken the paper into her ladyship's
+room. . . . I hope you've been keeping well, sir. . . .?"
+
+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.
+
+"Don't you like kissing me any more?" she asked. "I've been hungry for
+you all these months!"
+
+"I was thinking what it would be like if you suddenly took yourself out
+of my life," said Eric.
+
+"Darling, why must you spoil the present by dragging in the future?"
+
+"I can't think of anything else."
+
+Barbara took his arm and led him to a chair.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+The girl shook her head sadly.
+
+"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 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 _was_
+going to happen to me."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Barbara bent her head until her trembling lips were hidden from him.
+
+"It's like you to think of that! Nobody's ever loved any one as you love
+me! But I won't, Eric. If _he_ wants me . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"Yes, I love you more than any one else ever has. . . . 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--_if--he--wants you_! What
+have you left for me?"
+
+"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----"
+
+"D'you think I can ever write again? You never _did_ think much of
+anything I wrote----"
+
+"You know that I was only teasing you! That first night, when you were
+so dreadfully pleased with yourself. . . . But I found you _were_ human,
+after all, when I came home with you----"
+
+"And broke 'the child's toy.'"
+
+"Ah, why did you remind me of that?"
+
+"I was reminded of it myself to-day. I'm not superstitious, but my luck
+_has_ gone. I can't write any more."
+
+"Eric, that's not true!"
+
+He compressed his lips and shrugged his shoulders, resignedly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Without telling me? Don't you like sharing things with me any longer?"
+
+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.
+
+"You choose a curious time to ask that question! There's 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. . . ."
+
+
+4
+
+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 Chateau d'Oex.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"It may be only a line, but I'll tell you everything when we get back,"
+she promised.
+
+A week passed before her letter reached him.
+
+"_We got here after the most impossible journey_," Agnes wrote from
+Chateau d'Oex, "_and Jack came to us yesterday. You can't imagine what
+it was like, seeing him again when we'd NEARLY 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._
+
+"_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 DID
+insult the guard and he WAS 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 CAN'T 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!'_
+
+"_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
+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._
+
+"_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._"
+
+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.
+
+"There's nothing from Switzerland," she announced at length.
+
+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.
+
+"I'm sorry, Babs, for _your_ sake."
+
+"Thank you, darling."
+
+"I'll make a point of seeing Agnes as soon as she gets back to England,"
+he went on.
+
+"Thank you, darling."
+
+"And, of course, I'll let you know anything there is to know. Very
+likely you'll get a letter before I see her."
+
+"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."
+
+"Good-bye, Babs. I suppose it wouldn't amuse you to lunch or dine with
+me anywhere?"
+
+"Not to-day, I think. But I love you for asking me. Good-bye."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"He wants a pipe, but father can get that. I don't think he sent any
+messages."
+
+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.
+
+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
+_eau-de-Cologne_ clutched in one hand.
+
+She started and opened her eyes as he came into the room.
+
+"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."
+
+Eric took a bottle of aspirin from the drawer of his writing-table.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"H-how is he?" she asked.
+
+"He gets tired rather quickly, but otherwise he's all right. Leading
+quite a normal life, I mean."
+
+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.
+
+"And what now, Eric?" she asked.
+
+"Isn't that for you to say?"
+
+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.
+
+She recognized it all now and remembered her earliest 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."
+
+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?"
+
+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. . . .
+
+War had seemed a small thing then, though Jack Summertown was to be
+killed within six weeks and her cousin Jim within a year. It was a
+thing remote and only important as postponing her punishment from Jack.
+
+"I must get back to London," he said suddenly. "I'm going to ask
+Summertown for a seat in his car."
+
+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. . . .
+
+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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"_I want to know what you're going to do now?_"
+
+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.
+
+"I make _every one_ miserable!" she cried, and both started at the
+violation of their long silence.
+
+Eric's head sank lower; but his eyes never left her face. 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.
+
+"Eric, I _want_ to give you everything, but I've sworn to God! Until
+I've seen Jack. . . ."
+
+"You've broken your oath in everything but form. From the first night we
+met you've belonged to me in all but name."
+
+"But won't you wait? Oh, why will you _drive_ me?"
+
+"I'm not driving you, Babs. I've not asked for anything."
+
+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.
+
+"I'll marry you, Eric," she said.
+
+"Thank you, Barbara."
+
+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. . . .
+
+Barbara pulled her cloak over her chest and ran despairingly into the
+house.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_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?_"--From the Diary of Eric
+    Lane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER EIGHT
+
+THE STRONGEST THING OF ALL
+
+    "Tam saepe nostrum decipi Fabullinum
+     Miraris, Aule? Semper homo bonus tiro est."
+            MARTIAL.
+
+
+1
+
+"_If you care for a six-months' lecturing tour in America_," wrote
+Grierson, "_I have an unrivalled offer. You would start in the New
+Year_. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Have you anything _new_?" asked the interviewer. "I've got all the old
+stuff out of '_Who's Who_'."
+
+Eric spoke vaguely of the novel, the play and the course of lectures in
+America, remembering the threadbare commonplaces 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.
+
+"Nothing expected for some months? I must work up the back stock. I
+shall want you to tell me in a minute what _started_ you writing plays.
+. . . Now, about your engagement?"
+
+"My engagement?" Eric echoed.
+
+The man nodded and moistened the end of his pencil in anticipation.
+
+"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."
+
+"I'm afraid I don't quite follow."
+
+The man looked at him in patient surprise.
+
+"We supply all the pictures for '_The World and His Wife_'," he
+explained. "They 'phoned through to know if we could let them have
+up-to-date photographs of you and Lady Barbara Neave----"
+
+"But you spoke of an engagement."
+
+"Isn't it true, then?"
+
+"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 '_The Times_' instead of
+circulating these rumours----"
+
+"It's only a rumour, then?" said the interviewer blankly, pocketing his
+note-book.
+
+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 debates and irritating
+disagreements; Barbara and he both needed a respite for recuperation. . . .
+
+"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."
+
+"I couldn't sleep, either," said Barbara huskily, holding out one hand
+and covering her eyes with the other.
+
+"Aren't you going to kiss me?"
+
+"If you like. It's your right now."
+
+Eric let fall her hand and drew back, biting his lip.
+
+"That's not a very pretty thing to say, darling," he murmured.
+
+"I'm sorry. . . . I've been haunted all night. It seemed as if God
+_must_ strike me down. . . . And, whenever I fell asleep, Jack was
+there, reproaching me, mocking me----"
+
+"He's had his chance," Eric interrupted sharply. "You start absolutely
+free."
+
+"You mean he's--rejected me?"
+
+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.
+
+"I mean it's--all over. You've no reason to reproach yourself, Babs. . . .
+I want to talk to you about seeing your father----"
+
+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 of letters and gave her one in which the
+previous occupant of his flat offered generous terms for the remainder
+of the lease.
+
+"We must decide some time when we're going to be married," he said, "and
+where we're going to live."
+
+"_Please_, Eric!"
+
+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.
+
+"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----"
+
+The girl winced and covered her face with her hands.
+
+"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 _see_ 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 _tried_ to make
+amends, but it wasn't in my power. I ought never to have given you that
+promise!"
+
+"Don't you love me any more, Babs?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"Well, what have I done since last night?"
+
+"You haven't done anything. . . . It was a letter. . . . You remember
+about Jim Loring's ball just before the war----"
+
+Eric drew her head on to his shoulder and kissed her.
+
+"My darling, that's all so long ago! Why distress yourself with it now?"
+
+"Jack was staying with the Knightriders," she persisted. "Kathleen
+Knightrider's the only soul who's ever suspected. . . . _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 . . ."
+
+"He's had his chance," Eric told her again.
+
+"I wish God _had_ struck me down," she whispered.
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+2
+
+For the second morning in succession Barbara did not telephone. Eric
+waited until noon and then asked her to dine with him.
+
+"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 _have_ people dining," she added.
+
+"Well, choose some other night," he suggested.
+
+"Oh, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. And I'm going to the country
+to-morrow."
+
+"But I thought you were going to be in London till Christmas."
+
+"I'm supposed to be ill," she answered and hung up the receiver before
+he could say anything more.
+
+Eric returned to his work, affecting unconsciousness of her alternating
+indifference and hostility. In the afternoon 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.
+
+Agnes did not arrive until nearly six o'clock and then came attended by
+a young officer.
+
+"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
+_matinee_ to-day."
+
+"Jolly good, if I may say so," murmured Benyon. "Hope you don't mind my
+buttin' in like this? Agnes said----"
+
+"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.
+
+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 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?
+
+They were still talking when Barbara was announced.
+
+"Gracious! Is it _eight_?" Agnes cried, looking at her watch. "I thought
+it was only seven. We must fly. Dick's taking me to a _revue_."
+
+"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."
+
+The two girls shook hands, and Agnes began searching for her gloves and
+purse, hurriedly declining Eric's invitation.
+
+"I used to know your brother quite well before the war," said Barbara.
+"I was so thankful to hear your good news."
+
+Agnes looked up with a quick smile.
+
+"We never _quite_ lost hope," she said.
+
+"Eric told me that you and your people had been out to see him in
+Switzerland. How did you find him?"
+
+The smile died away in wistfulness.
+
+"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----"
+
+"But is that quite certain?" Barbara interrupted.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"How soon do you expect him?" asked Barbara.
+
+"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 . . .!"
+
+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.
+
+"I like her, Eric," she remarked thoughtfully. "Why don't you marry her?
+Any one can see she's in love with you."
+
+"You're the only person in the world I want to marry," he answered.
+
+Barbara's face twisted in a spasm of pain.
+
+"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----"
+
+"Forget you!" Eric gripped her by the shoulders. "What d'you think would
+be left, if I lost you?"
+
+Her eyes opened wide with wonder.
+
+"You can't love me as much as that, Eric!"
+
+"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!"
+
+She shook her head miserably and without hope of flattering reassurance.
+
+"I could have killed myself when you told me that I'd destroyed your
+power of work," she whispered. "And to-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!"
+
+"But _you_'re not responsible."
+
+"I might make things easier. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, I never thought he'd starve! But it must be such a disappointment."
+
+"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?"
+
+She looked up quickly with a gleam of hope in her eyes.
+
+"Are you going to--forget my promise?"
+
+"No! I asked whether you cared for Jack as much as all that."
+
+Barbara shook her head in bewilderment.
+
+"I've given you my heart, Eric. But I owe Jack my soul."
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+3
+
+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.
+
+As he dawdled before a book-stall at Waterloo, Eric's eye was caught by
+"_The World and His Wife_" 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.
+
+"_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 PREMIERE 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.
+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._ . . ."
+
+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 "_The World and His Wife_" to their stomachs; it was the
+one periodical of later date than "_Punch_" 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 _debutantes_, the house-party groups and
+snapshots of celebrities in the Park. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"Is that true, Ricky?"
+
+"Is what true?"
+
+"That you're engaged to that woman?"
+
+"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!"
+
+His sister was silent for some moments.
+
+"I hope to _Heaven_ 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----"
+
+"Isn't this rather sweeping about some one you've never even met?" Eric
+interposed gently.
+
+"You take such jolly good care that we shouldn't meet her," Sybil
+answered at a tangent.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 Ministere de la Guerre. Eric could count on seeing
+him almost any day--in England, or, if he could invent a mission, in
+Paris.
+
+Only when she had walked through the garden to send him on his way
+across the fields did Agnes touch on the 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?"
+
+"You're looking as if you wanted a holiday," Agnes volunteered.
+
+"I've been rather worried lately," Eric answered vaguely.
+
+"Not about that----" She looked at him and moved round, slipping her
+hand through his arm. "_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."
+
+"It makes my relations with her rather difficult," he laughed.
+
+"But all you've got to do is not to meet her!" Agnes explained in a tone
+of convincing reason.
+
+"She's--_one_ of the greatest friends I've got," he said.
+
+Agnes rubbed gently at the tarnished motto on the dial.
+
+"That makes it rather difficult, of course," she said at length.
+
+And then it seemed easiest for him to shake hands and walk away without
+adding anything.
+
+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.
+
+"_I don't know_," he wrote to Barbara on reaching home, "_whether you
+have seen this week's '_World and His Wife_.' There's a rather broad
+hint at our engagement, and I'm receiving congratulations. Isn't this a
+golden opportunity for publishing the news?_"
+
+Barbara's reply was tuned to an uncompromising note which Eric had met
+but once before--at the beginning of his 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.
+
+"_I am so very miserable_," she wrote. "_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._"
+
+Eric read the letter three times and left it unanswered.
+
+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.
+
+"I'm worn out, I must have a complete change," said Eric. "And I want to
+start at once."
+
+Grierson was surprised out of his habitual placidity by the nervous
+vehemence of Eric's manner.
+
+"You'll need a month or two to prepare your lectures," he pointed out.
+
+"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 still going on, I shall stay away and go on to Japan.
+You'll fix that, Grierson?"
+
+He jumped up restlessly and was starting for the door when his agent
+recalled him.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"'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----"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I'm not going to stay in England to please Manders," Eric interrupted.
+
+"He'd like to have a talk with you about it before you leave London,"
+said Grierson.
+
+Eric caught himself yawning. It was such futility to discuss a play in
+which he had lost all interest.
+
+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.
+
+"_My dear Eric_," he read.
+
+"_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._
+
+"_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 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._
+
+"_There's really nothing to tell you about this place. I believe you
+know Chateau 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 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._
+
+"_Write again, old man. Your letter did me no end of good._
+
+"_Ever yours_
+
+"_Jack Waring._"
+
+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 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.
+
+A week later Jack wrote again.
+
+"_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 SOMETHING, and I haven't yet found anything
+else that will._
+
+"_For the last fortnight I've been doing a turn of French-Without-Tears
+as an interpreter at the MINISTERE DE LA GUERRE. 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._ . . ."
+
+There was a chance, Eric reflected, that Jack might have glanced at the
+pictures in "_The World and His Wife_" 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.
+
+Whether he had seen it or not was trivial. All this 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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+"_Darling Babs, it's essential that I should see you for a moment_," he
+wrote. "_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 ABSOLUTELY
+IMPERATIVE that we should discuss it at once._"
+
+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.
+
+"_Has something awful happened_?" she wrote in reply. "_You do FRIGHTEN
+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 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._"
+
+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.
+
+"We're being very mysterious," murmured Sybil.
+
+Eric smiled and said nothing.
+
+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!)
+
+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. . . .
+
+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 old lady with cumbrous luggage,
+who stood in the doorway calling with shrill helplessness for a porter.
+
+"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.
+
+"Are you coming with me to the first night?" he asked.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"But--why?" she asked blankly.
+
+"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.
+
+Barbara had become very pale and for a moment she said nothing.
+
+"This--doesn't mean that you're--saying good-bye?" she faltered.
+
+"It's a present, not an ultimatum," Eric answered sharply.
+
+So she could still try to make the best of both worlds.
+
+"You've always been wonderfully generous!" she whispered. "I can never
+repay you."
+
+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.
+
+"Have you tried?" he asked sharply.
+
+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.
+
+"Rather less than two minutes, if anything," he murmured, as he started
+the engine. "Five weeks since we became engaged. . . ."
+
+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. . . .
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_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._"--From
+    the Diary of Eric Lane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER NINE
+
+THE EDUCATION OF BARBARA NEAVE
+
+    "The mob decrees such feat no crown, perchance,
+     But--why call crowning the reward of quest?"
+            ROBERT BROWNING: "_Aristophanes' Apology._"
+
+
+1
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+_"If you don't want to see me, you needn't_," he wrote. "_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_."
+
+Of course it was all badinage; and yet, if Jack knew everything, the
+badinage might cover an atrocious hint of his knowledge. . . .
+
+"I'm losing my sense of reality!" Eric muttered.
+
+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.
+
+"_He wants to see you_," wrote Lady Lane, "_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 NOTHING 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_. . . ."
+
+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 _had_ seen
+her. . . .
+
+Eric telephoned to Berkeley Square and found his voice greeted with
+surprise and apprehensive pleasure.
+
+"I thought you were in the country! You _are_ getting restless, Eric!
+When did you come up?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Thank you, Eric," she answered quietly.
+
+There was a pause which neither liked to break. At last Eric said:
+
+"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."
+
+There was a second pause followed by a sigh.
+
+"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."
+
+"You gave him pretty good provocation," Eric suggested.
+
+"But you don't cease loving people because they behave badly to you.
+I've behaved abominably to _you_. 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."
+
+"I love you in spite of it all."
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, I wish you _didn't_!" Barbara cried at last. "Why don't you go away
+and forget all about me?"
+
+She had trapped him neatly, as he had no doubt she well knew.
+
+"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."
+
+This time she put her triumph into words.
+
+"Don't you think that Jack may need me as badly?"
+
+"He's had his chance. . . ."
+
+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. . . .
+
+Lighting a cigarette, he was trying to think what he had been doing
+before their conversation started, when the telephone-bell rang.
+
+"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."
+
+
+2
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I shall get up for my own first night," said Eric.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Where did you see her?" Eric asked, trying to keep his voice
+unconcerned.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+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.
+
+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; 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 _will_ it to be!"
+
+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. . . .
+
+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!
+
+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 white circle,
+the size of a florin, revealed the mark of his scalp wound. . . .
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"_I propose to give the thing a trial. Every one must admit that the
+present position is intolerable._"
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+And they would meet within six seconds. . . .
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+3
+
+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. . . .
+
+"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
+_something_ 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 . . .."
+
+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 Zealand, Australia, Japan, China, the Dutch East
+Indies, Burmah, India. . . .
+
+"This is all in confidence, of course," he interrupted himself to say.
+"I haven't breathed a word to my people."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"_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._ . . ."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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. . . .
+
+There was no letter from Barbara next day; and he searched "_The
+Times_" 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.
+
+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.
+
+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. . . .
+
+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 talking 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.
+
+"You'll send us a cable to say that you've arrived safely," Lady Lane
+was saying.
+
+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."
+
+"I only wish you weren't going so soon," said his mother regretfully.
+"Geoff's due for leave next month."
+
+"Tell him I was sorry to miss him," Eric answered. "I'm afraid the boat
+won't wait for me."
+
+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.
+
+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 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. . . .
+
+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!"
+
+She looked over Eric's shoulder as the door opened and the butler
+announced:
+
+"Lady Barbara Neave."
+
+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:
+
+"Margaret, you must send him home at once! He's been very ill and he's
+no business to be out of _bed_!"
+
+"But he's going to America to-morrow, he was telling us."
+
+For a moment Barbara's face was blank. She recovered quickly and
+repeated: "_To-morrow?_ I've simply lost all count of time."
+
+"Including dinner, darling," said Lady Poynter, with a meaning glance at
+the clock.
+
+It was all so familiar that Eric's sense of probability would have been
+outraged, if he had not been put next to Barbara.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh, a week."
+
+"And you never told me? You never wrote or telephoned----"
+
+Eric felt his face stiffening into unamiable lines as he remembered the
+agony of the first four days' silence.
+
+"You never wrote or telephoned to me," he interrupted.
+
+"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?"
+
+Eric dropped his napkin and picked it up again for an excuse to escape
+her hand.
+
+"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."
+
+"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 _weren't_ going away
+without saying good-bye?"
+
+He turned upon her so suddenly that she was frozen into silence.
+
+"Would _you_ have had anything to say, if you hadn't promised Gaisford
+not to communicate with me?"
+
+"The usual things, Eric. I'd have told you what I was doing, I'd have
+sent you my love. If you're tired of that, darling----"
+
+"Not _that_, Barbara!"
+
+Her eyes opened wide with distress.
+
+"Eric, what's the matter? What have I done? Mayn't I even call you
+'darling' now?"
+
+"_Are_ you being quite honest, Barbara?"
+
+"Thank you, Eric!"
+
+"Have you nothing to tell me since last time?"
+
+She looked at him imperiously and considered her words before speaking.
+
+"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----"
+
+"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."
+
+
+4
+
+From the end of the table Lady Poynter was making desperate attempts to
+attract Eric's attention.
+
+"Mr. Lane, you're the only person who can tell us this----"
+
+Barbara touched his wrist and nodded past him.
+
+"Margaret's trying to speak to you," she said.
+
+Eric galvanized his attention and turned with a murmur of apology.
+
+"Mr. Lane, is it true that 'Mother's Son' was refused _three--times_?"
+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
+_heard_ of such a thing!"
+
+"It wasn't quite in its present form," Eric explained. "The theme's the
+same, but I've rewritten almost every word."
+
+Lady Poynter nodded triumphantly.
+
+"Ah! Then I was right!" she informed her neighbour, and Eric was free to
+turn again to Barbara.
+
+"Where had we got to?" he asked, after a moment's embarrassed silence.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 _you'd_ been through . . . in
+common humanity----"
+
+"And if I had nothing to tell you?" she interrupted.
+
+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.
+
+"I don't think I've anything more to say, Babs."
+
+An arm interposed itself between them, and he looked 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!
+
+"D'you care to hear what happened?" she asked.
+
+"What d'you think I'm made of?" he muttered.
+
+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. . . .
+
+"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. _Then_ 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."
+
+"But is that all?"
+
+"Absolutely all," she sighed.
+
+Eric lapsed into silence, wishing that his brain were not half
+paralyzed. Then he glanced round the table, counting their numbers.
+
+"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----"
+
+"But, Eric----?"
+
+"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----"
+
+He looked round apprehensively, fearful that he was being overheard.
+
+"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!"
+
+"I shouldn't have done it eighteen months ago--before you took my
+education in hand," he answered bitterly. "I've given myself heart _and_
+soul to you."
+
+He hardly cared now whether the servants or his neighbours heard him,
+and Barbara had to press his knee to restrain him.
+
+"Then will you do something for me?" she asked.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"I want you to come back. Come back in three months, when they expect
+you."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"I'm not asking for myself! I'm asking for them. You _can't_ be so
+wicked! It's not like you; I don't know you when you talk like this.
+You'd break their hearts!"
+
+"I don't know that this comes well from you, Babs."
+
+"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."
+
+He shook his head and looked at her defiantly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Dear Eric, don't start that again!"
+
+"Thanks! It doesn't amuse _me_ 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."
+
+"Won't you come back for my sake?" she whispered.
+
+"To be told that you're going to marry some one else?"
+
+"You may not be told that. I don't know."
+
+Eric was filled with a blaze of anger; he had to pause long before he
+could be sure of his voice.
+
+"You _still_ don't want to let me go? The pathetic invocation of my
+mother----"
+
+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 history 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 _half_ 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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+She was hardly outside the room before his host sidled conspiratorially
+into the empty chair next him.
+
+"Do you know anything of still champagne?" he enquired darkly, as though
+he were giving a pass-word.
+
+"I've _drunk_ it, of course," answered Eric.
+
+"Of course?" Lord Poynter echoed. "My dear friend, not one man in twenty
+thousand of your generation has even _heard_ of still champagne. . . ."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Well, I expect you've a great deal to do," she said, shaking hands
+reluctantly.
+
+"Oh, Eric, aren't you going to take me home?"
+
+Barbara threw out the question casually, but she found time to look up
+and beseech him with her eyes.
+
+"Are you going to be long?" he asked in the same tone.
+
+"They're a game and sixteen. If you'll smoke _one_ cigarette . . ."
+
+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.
+
+          "_One fine day, we'll notice
+    A thread of smoke arising on the sea
+    In the far horizon,
+    And then the ship appearing;--
+    Then the trim white vessel
+    Glides into the harbour, thunders forth her cannon.
+    See you? He is coming!
+    I do not go to meet him. Not I. I stay
+    Upon the brow of the hillock and wait, and wait
+    For a long time, but never weary
+    Of the long waiting.
+    From out the crowded city,
+    There is coming a man--
+    A little speck in the distance, climbing the hillock.
+    Can you guess who it is?
+    And when he's reached the summit
+    Can you guess what he'll say?
+    He will call 'Butterfly' from the distance.
+    I, without answering,
+    Hold myself quietly concealed,
+    A bit to tease him, and a bit so as not to die
+    At our first meeting: and then, a little troubled,
+    He will call, he will call:
+    'Dear baby-wife of mine, dear little orange-blossom!'
+    The names he used to call me when he came here_. . . ."
+
+"My dear, why don't you use that beautiful voice of yours more?" asked
+Lady Poynter, as she ended.
+
+Barbara's face was in shadow, but Eric could see that she was looking
+across the room at him.
+
+"Oh, not one person in ten million ever wants me to sing," she laughed,
+as she came back to the table.
+
+Five minutes later she opened her purse, pushed a note across to Lady
+Poynter and came up to Eric with a smile of gratitude.
+
+"I hope I haven't been long," she said. "Shall we see if we can find a
+taxi?"
+
+
+5
+
+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!"
+
+"I'm afraid there's not a taxi in sight," he said. "Shall we go by tube
+to Dover Street?"
+
+"We may meet a taxi. Eric, d'you remember the first time----"
+
+He shook free of her arm, as though it were eating into his flesh.
+
+"You felt the evening wouldn't be complete without that--after
+'Butterfly'?" he asked.
+
+Barbara stood still, swaying slightly until he caught her wrist.
+
+"I'm shutting my eyes and thinking of the past, the time when we were
+happy," she gasped. "I can't face the present."
+
+"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."
+
+Barbara held up her hands as though each word struck her in the face.
+
+"D'you _want_ 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 _that_, darling?"
+
+"If I could only forget it, I shouldn't regret so bitterly the day when
+we first met."
+
+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. . . .
+
+"Take a sip of this," he ordered.
+
+She drank obediently and thanked him with her eyes.
+
+"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 will ever understand or love or make allowances for me----"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Though she opened her eyes slowly, there was now no trace of faintness
+or exhaustion.
+
+"He never had a chance! Eric, if you'll think for one moment--in a
+crowded theatre, with people listening all round----"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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----"
+
+"Anything you know will have to be known to-night."
+
+"But if you found a cable waiting for you in New York----"
+
+"It would tell me what I know already--plus the fact that your vanity
+had been convinced in spite of itself."
+
+"I prefer 'honour' to 'vanity.'"
+
+"Hadn't we better leave 'honour' out of the discussion?"
+
+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.
+
+"You wouldn't like me to drop you in Ryder Street?" Barbara asked.
+
+"Not even to gratify your love of artistic finish."
+
+"How you hate me!" she whispered with a catch in her breath.
+
+"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."
+
+Barbara looked at him like a startled animal, then looked away.
+
+"Haven't I sunk myself, haven't I thought of Jack before any one else
+for two and a half years?" she whispered.
+
+"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 _amour
+propre_."
+
+"You must be thankful to be rid of me after the way I've sacrificed you
+to my vanity."
+
+"You'll outgrow your vanity."
+
+"Perhaps Jack still wants me in spite of the way I've behaved to _him_."
+
+"Perhaps so. I shan't be here to see."
+
+The taxi turned into Berkeley Street, and Eric held out his hand.
+
+"Good-bye, Barbara," he said.
+
+"Won't you come in for a moment?"
+
+"No, thank you."
+
+"Eric, you must! There's something I want to say to you! Eric, I _beg_
+you to come in."
+
+He opened the door without answering and stood on the kerb, ready to
+help her out. She delayed so long that the driver turned curiously
+round.
+
+"Eric, please!" she entreated.
+
+"Have you your latch-key?"
+
+She gave a choking sob, as she mounted the steps, and Eric set his
+teeth; suddenly losing control, she gripped him by the arm.
+
+"Eric, you're _not_ going to-morrow!"
+
+"Indeed I am."
+
+"When?"
+
+"That's immaterial. Good-bye."
+
+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.
+
+The tail-light dwindled to a ruby pin-point and vanished. . . .
+
+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. . . .
+
+Then he threw himself in shirt and trousers on the bed and buried his
+face in his hands.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "_A man does not continue drinking corked champagne. With women, his
+    palate is less critical._"--From the Diary of Eric Lane.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Education of Eric Lane, by Stephen McKenna
+
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