"I'm thinking solely of what would be said."
Barbara pouted and sat silent until she could launch an ultimatum as the cab stopped at her door. The success of his first night was making Eric masterful; and she wanted to test her power.
"If I can't dine with you in the way I like …" she began fretfully. "You only want to shew me off to the O'Ranes.…"
Eric forgave the petulance because he could see that she was tired. But he was tired too.…
"If you don't care about the O'Ranes, I'll see if I can get some one else some other time," he said. "It wouldn't do for you to dine with me alone."
"I believe you're in love with Sonia," she rejoined ill-humouredly.
"What nonsense! … Good-night, Babs. Thanks so much for coming."
On reaching home, he wrote to invite Mrs. Shelley for Monday. If Barbara rang him up in the morning, her repentance would be too late; he had only four arm-chairs in the dining-room.
There was no call from Barbara in the morning, neither note nor meeting throughout the day and no call at night. Such a thing had never happened before; there might be some occult cause of offence; his experience of Barbara taught Eric that she would cease to sulk when she wanted him; it was his experience of all women that none repaid a man the trouble of trying to understand her moods. Thursday was like Wednesday (and he knew that she was not returning to Crawleigh until Saturday); Friday was like Thursday—until the evening, when he nervously entered the Thespian Club as guest of honour. The hall-porter projected himself through the window of his box and handed Eric a note.
"All success, dear Eric," he read. "I wish I could be there to hear you. I shall ring you up to-night, and you must tell me all about it. Imagine I'm sitting by you, darling, and don't let the speech disappoint me. B."