Lady Barbara sprang from the chair and faced him with amazement in her eyes.
"My dear creature, do you imagine you're compromising me?"
"That's a strong word. I'm some years older than you, Lady Barbara," he added meaningly.
"But if you knew——"
Jack interrupted her with a shake of the head.
"If you're trying to tell me some of the things you have done, you may spare yourself the trouble. I used to think you were being swept off your feet by the people you went about with. The more stories you tell me, the more I'm tempted to wonder whether you don't set the fashion. Some one's frightfully to blame for not pulling you up, though I know Jim did his best. Does it make no difference to you when a man like that refuses to have you inside his house?"
Lady Barbara walked slowly to the table.
"You must apologize for that, Mr. Waring."
She imagined that she was contending with one man over a single hasty sentence; but behind Jack stood his father, his father's regiment and his father's club, all honestly conservative and gently self-approving. Behind the sentence there lay in support a social philosophy framed in days before England was corrupted by the uncertain morals of the east and the uncouth manners of the west.
"Isn't it true?" demanded Jack, unabashed. "He cabled to his mother from Surinam after the motor smash and that inquest. I wasn't told the exact words, but you haven't been to the house very lately, have you?"