"It would simply draw attention to it."
"Well, that's one of the solutions ruled out."
"And I'm left with the choice of marrying you—you haven't asked me yet!—or saying good-bye? There is another alternative, Eric: and that is to shew you're too sensible to mind what silly people say about you."
Eric shook his head obstinately.
"No good, I'm afraid."
"Well, try to think of something else," she sighed. "Don't spoil our evening, sweetheart."
The intermittent presence of the maid, rather than any state of mental satisfaction in Eric, kept the conversation peaceful. He almost forgot the annoyances of the last week in watching Barbara's delighted enjoyment of a new experience so trivial as dining with him for the first time in his own flat. Nothing escaped her curious notice—a wine that he gave her to try with the scallops, the Lashmar chrysanthemums in a flat, blue-glass bowl, the unaging pleasure of an invisibly lighted room, Australian passion-fruit at dessert, a new artist's proof.…
"You're really like a child at a pantomime, Babs," he laughed, when they were alone.
She rose slowly and bent over him, touching his forehead with her lips and then kneeling beside his chair.
"I'm interested in everything!" she cried. "I love new experiences! At least, I did. I loved meeting new people, hearing new things—the world was so wonderful. And then—I never understood why I went on living.… You made life wonderful for me again. The first night we met, when I came here.… You were quite right, Eric, I was a fool.… But somehow I wasn't afraid. I knew you'd put your hand in the fire for me."