She ceased speaking abruptly, her face flushing and then going suddenly white.
“Oh, rot, old man,” said Captain Neil, impatiently, “you will come. Of course he'll come,” he added to Phyllis.
They moved together out of the room, Mrs. Vincent and Captain Neil leading the way.
“Oh, Barry, aren't you going?” said Phyllis in a low voice.
“How can I answer that?” he replied, almost in anger. “Do YOU ask me to go? Do YOU want me to go?”
“Of course, we all want you to go,” said the girl.
“Is that your answer?” His voice was tense; his face strained. “If that is all, Phyllis, I must say 'Good-bye' to-night. Why should I go with you? Why should I stay here in London? There's nothing for me here. The war is the only place—”
“Oh, Barry,” she said, her eyes bright with tears, “how unkindly, how terribly you talk.” Then with a swift change of mood she turned upon him. “What right have you to talk like that?” she cried in sudden wrath. “What have I done—what have we done to you?”
“Wait, Phyllis,” he cried desperately. “Oh, let them go on,” he added impatiently. “For Heaven's sake, is there no place about here where I can talk to you?” They were both pale and trembling. “I must talk to you to-night—now—at once.” He stood between her and the door. “Can't you see I love you? I love you, do you hear? If you don't love me, why should I live?”
“Oh, Barry,” said the girl, in a hurried voice. “You must not talk like this. Come this way. I know this place.” She hurried out by a side door, down a corridor, and into a small parlour, with cosy corners, where they were alone.