"Oh, anything." She wished that the tables were nearer together and that the room were fuller. They were remote enough for Jack to become very confidential, if he wished; and it was impossible to talk him down, if he formally asked for five minutes of her undivided attention and forbade interruption. She sought inspiration in vain from the vaulted roof and high-placed gallery, the tattered standards hanging in double row into the middle of the room, the rough stone walls half-covered with panelling and the stained-glass windows at either end. To discuss architecture with Jack was unprofitable at any time. "I never expected to see you here," she told him again. "What have you been doing since last we met?"
"When did we meet last?" he asked her once more, with a nonchalance that made her look at him in amazement.
"It was at Ross House, soon after Easter," she answered with rare precision. "Don't you remember?"
"Oh, perfectly. I wanted to be sure that you did. It was hardly an evening that I should forget in a hurry."
Barbara was frightened and relieved at the same time. His deliberation and absence of embarrassment disconcerted her, but, in so far as his manner was vaguely threatening, she was vaguely comforted. If he wanted to punish her, she was well able to take care of herself; and she would far sooner hear reproaches than pleadings, though for once she would soonest of all be spared any kind of altercation.
"And what have you been doing ever since?" she asked again.
"I've just been received into your Church," he answered.
Overhead the music stopped to the accompaniment of a double stamp; it was as though the very orchestra were dumbfounded. After a moment's clapping, it started again, and Barbara sat through the encore with averted eyes and a frown of preoccupation, putting crumbs of bread into her mouth and eating salmon which nauseated her. She was conscious of mental cramp—and of nothing else, save perhaps that Jack was probably looking at her to mark how she received the news. When the music stopped a second time, there came a sound of voices from the stairs; and he glanced apprehensively over his shoulder as the first couples entered with flushed faces, pulling off their gloves and fanning themselves.
"Will you marry me now, Babs?" he whispered.
"I—can't!"