"I'm sorry for your sake."
"Ah, you can't afford the luxury of a conscience, Lady Barbara."
"I thought you must have seen—after that night at Ross House...." she began hurriedly, but her voice and courage died away. "Lady" Barbara choked her.
"You took pains that I shouldn't see. We needn't go through this again? I took you at your word. You suggested one obstacle—one only,—and I removed it."
As he stood up, she saw him sway and for the first time understood the size of what she had done. She and Jack did not believe that immortal souls existed or could be imperilled, but if there were a jealous God who refused to have His name taken in vain....
"Jack——"
"Shall we go up-stairs?" he asked.
"I haven't finished my cigarette."
She tried to speak again, but stopped at an outburst of singing in the hall. "Geor-gie, what did you buy, what did you buy for Maud-ee?" Summertown and Framlingham waltzed into the room and swung recklessly between the tables to an accompaniment of falsetto small-talk. "Jolly floor, what? Have you been to many floors this season?" "Oh, hardly any, Miss Framlingham. I'm quite a little country mouse. Here, I say, what's the matter with this table?" Summertown subsided by the door, and Framlingham scoured the neighbourhood for food and drink. Their noise and high spirits were disturbing, but after one impatient glance over his shoulder Jack turned round and looked at Barbara. She was sitting lost in thought, with her chin on her hand, staring at the bubbles as they rose in her glass—puzzled but at ease. The long, exacting season had made her more haggard than ever, but Jack had learned to love and yearn for this wan, fragile beauty; her eyes were bigger and darker than usual, and a faint languor gave her added dignity. If he went on looking at her, Jack felt that he might strangle her in a passionate gust of jealousy and self-pity.