He stroked her head and gave a sudden shiver. No one would ever know what path he might have chosen that night out of the maze of his disordered emotions.
"In those days you were nothing to me," he murmured.
"But you put all women on pedestals.… Eric, will you believe me if I say that I've tried to live up to your conception of me?"
"But do you know what my conception of you is?"
"Something a thousand miles higher than I can ever climb! When I'm restless, lonely, I think of our love, your wonderful devotion—like a mother's to her child … and my love for you. Give me your cigarette, Eric."
Before he could see what she was doing, the glowing end had been pressed against her hand until it blackened and died. He saw her eyes shut and her lip whitening as she bit it. Her body swayed and fell forward before the crumpled cigarette dropped on to the carpet.
"You little—Babs, what's the matter with you?"
She opened her eyes, breathing quickly and holding out her hand to shew a vermilion ring with a leprous-white centre.
"I'd put my hand in the fire for you!" she panted.
"You little fool!" He was filled with a desire to hurt her for having hurt herself. "Look here, Barbara.…"