Barbara had undergone some transformation in the last six months until she seemed hardly to need him. In the old days she was a slave to be summoned by a clap of the hands; but, since he had healed her spirit, she was a queen to be courted.
"I'll come, if you like," she said. "It means throwing over George Oakleigh. And I haven't seen him since I came back."
"I shouldn't dream of asking you to do that. I've chosen an unfortunate day. I've chosen rather a lot of unfortunate days lately," he added.
"Is that very gracious, Eric? I've said I'll come."
The desire to get his own way and the growing need of her struggled confusedly with the resolve to be patient and the politic determination to court her as a queen.
"No, you keep to your original plan," he advised her; and then, with thinly-veiled taunt, "It's funny to look back on the old days, when you were miserable if twelve hours passed without our meeting. D'you remember when you used to say how much you needed me?"
"I need you still," she answered, wondering at his new irritability.
"You got on very comfortably without me at the Cap Martin——"
"I should have been very uncomfortable if I hadn't known that you were thinking of me, waiting for me, loving me, even——"
"And you'll get on very comfortably when you're at Crawleigh Abbey," he persisted. "And to-morrow——"