Dinner, but no one to share it with him, had been ordered for a quarter past eight. He telephoned at seven to say that he might be a little late and set out for Berkeley Square. Barbara was alone when he arrived, and he entered her room in some embarrassment. He could not imagine Sybil's receiving male visitors in her bedroom, and he was shy to find himself alone with Barbara and to see her lying in a blue silk kimono with the Persian kitten asleep on a chair by her side and two tables submerged by Madonna lilies. As he hesitated on the threshold, she smiled wistfully and at the same time with a certain triumphant confidence in her setting.
"I was—very sorry to hear you were ill, Babs," he said.
"I've waited for you so long! Won't you kiss me, Eric?"
He picked up the kitten, affecting not to have heard her.
"What is it? A chill? Your mother said—— No, I don't think she told me what it was."
Restraint faltered with every hesitating word, and Barbara pushed the kitten's cushion on to the floor.
"Sit down, darling," she begged.
"I must go in a minute," said Eric, gravely consulting his watch.
"Who have you got dining with you?" He hesitated. "Any one?"
"As a matter of fact, I've not. I lied to your mother. You see I didn't want to meet you, Babs. I didn't want to go through that other night again."