"We've promised to go to a party," Sonia answered. "To-night's the hundred and fiftieth performance of Eric Lane's play, and he's giving a supper on the stage. Why don't you come too?"
"I haven't been asked. And I don't know him."
"Oh, that doesn't matter! I don't know him, but David was up at Oxford with him."
"I think I'll wait until I've met him. You're not going too, George?"
"I'm bound for the same debauch, I'm afraid. Barbara, will you dine with me some time to meet him? I'll try to fix a night and telephone to you in the morning."
"I shall love that."
She went to bed, feeling that she would sleep; but her nerves were unsettled by the memory of her encounter with Mrs. Savage. After trying to read, she jumped up and began walking about the room. She was never conscious of having gone outside, but some time later she found herself in the hall, lying on a table with a rug round her. Lady Crawleigh was standing over her with a white face and frightened eyes; her maid hovered in the background, with her hair in curl-papers and a grotesque mackintosh over her nightgown. Farther away stood an unmistakable policeman with close-cropped black hair and a line of white at the top of his forehead. Barbara reflected that she had never before seen a policeman without his helmet. Then she sat up and stared round her.
"What's happened?"
"My darling child, lie still," Lady Crawleigh implored. "How do you feel?"
"I'm all right."