"I don't mind you. But it was no business of the Deganway creature. Can't you break his eye-glass or cut a piece off the end of his nose, George? Did he tell you who I came down with?"
"Deganway is always thorough in his investigations. I'm sorry I mentioned it; I was only teasing you."
"I don't mind you," she repeated. "But it does make things so impossible if father and mother go about fancying.… Come to lunch! I'll be in time for one meal," she cried, seizing his arm and hurrying him the length of the echoing refectory.
At luncheon and recurrently through the afternoon Barbara wondered how far Deganway's gossiping tongue had already prejudiced her relations with Eric. If he heard that they were being discussed, he would in all probability strike an attitude and declare that he could not be a party to compromising her any longer. At present he was too novel a distraction for her to spare him easily; already he had become so important to her life that she had forgotten George Oakleigh and the thrill of gratitude and elation which she had felt when he began sluggishly but surely to fall in love with her.
The house-party had dispersed before she came down next day. Breakfast in bed was a dull meal, because she had hoped to find an unsolicited letter from Eric—about anything. She had to wait until the second post, and that only brought her the briefest possible acceptance of her invitation. Not until Tuesday did she receive the long letter which he had written on Saturday night. And the intimacy and tenderness of it were half spoiled even then, for Lady Crawleigh followed her maid into the room, enquired affectionately how Barbara was feeling and settled down to read instructive extracts from The Times.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Crawleigh Abbey seemed suddenly very big and deserted. Barbara secured a trunk call to Eric's flat on Monday night; but, after twenty minutes to wonder why she shewed so little pride and whether he would be angry with her, a faint voice answered that Mr. Lane was dining out. Something which she could not analyze told her that she would be taking an unfair risk with his affection, if she tried to communicate with him again. She could hardly understand why she was staying in bed and taking so great care of herself; but it was Eric's wish, and she had felt a leap at the heart when he interested himself in her welfare. If he only knew, it would do her much more good to be with him, to tease him and laugh at him and set him attitudinizing and then to charm a word or gesture of affection from him … and then to laugh at him again and see him perplexed and exasperated. She was very grateful to him for bringing a new interest into her life.…
Little Val Arden had once said, years before the war, that she would find her greatest emotion on the day when she lost her heart.…
But it were useless to fall in love with Eric if she could not make him return her love.…
Thursday seemed as far away as the throne of God in that ghastly nightmare.… She wrote Mrs. Shelley a letter which she hoped would not read so transparently false as it seemed to her in writing.
"Dearest Marion, I feel so rude for never having apologized either for running away myself so early or for dragging Eric Lane away from your delightful party. I was feeling dreadfully tired. I'm in bed now; in fact, I've hardly been out of bed since I came here on Saturday, and he put a pistol to my head and insisted on taking me home. I shall be in London for one or two nights next week. Will you shew that you forgive us by inviting us again? Your affectionate Barbara."