The attack was opened three hours later from the opposite flank, when Gerald Deganway put up his eye-glass and stared at Jack with an affectation of shocked gravity.
"My dear, every one's talking about you," he exclaimed. "It's becoming quite a scandal."
"What's becoming a scandal?" asked Jack.
"You and Babs Neave."
"What a pity it is that people can't mind their own business!"
Any one acquainted with Deganway knew better than to take his gossip at face-value, but Jack was amazed to find that he had given material for chatter and speculation even to Deganway. To be a friend of Barbara Neave, as Arden once said, was like going for a walk with an arc-lamp; but they had been frigidly circumspect and restrained. Two week-ends at Crawleigh Abbey, perhaps six dinners in London and twice that number of dances, where he looked in at supper-time and left after an hour, covered their public intimacy. For a moment Jack was roused to violent irritation towards Deganway, then he dismissed the irritation in gratitude for the warning. There was no time to lose, if this kind of nonsense was being talked, and he stationed himself at the door of the ball-room and pounced upon Barbara at the end of the dance.
"You're not really hungry, are you?" she asked, when he suggested that they should have supper together.
"I want to talk with you," he answered.
Barbara started imperceptibly. Jack was less self-possessed than usual; of any other man she would argue from a varied experience that he meditated proposing to her.
"I'll come down, if you like," she answered gently. She always achieved success with Jack when her voice grew caressing and she promised to do a thing, if he liked. "I hope I'm not in disgrace?"