"It's such a wonderful morning, Jim," she said, as she turned.
"Yes, but, as we've managed to get through one whole night without quarrelling, don't catch a chill at the end and put the blame on me. I thought, all things considered, that it went off very well."
"I suppose so.... Jim, when I'm responsible for a thing, I never put the blame on other people. You can't deny me courage."
"My dear girl, I can't remember a single occasion on which you've taken the blame for anything. Perhaps you'll reply that you never were to blame for anything, and we might argue about that for a very long time. Come to bed; you're shivering."
She walked with him into the house and looked wonderingly at the clock, while he barred the door behind them. Six! It seemed hardly worth while going to bed....
"Are you tired, Jim? Too tired to smoke a cigarette and listen to me blaming myself?"
Loring's heart seemed to sink. He had seen her with Jack and he had listened to an eager but unconvincing story designed to shew that, in Jack's eyes, it made all the difference in the world whether he motored to Gloucester and arrived in London in time for breakfast or breakfasted at the Castle or in Raglan and returned to London by a morning train.
"I'll listen—with pleasure," he said.
Barbara looked for a comfortable seat and led the way to a sofa in the smoking-room.