"Yes! Margaret, darling, any young man may write one successful bad play——"
There was a gasp of orotund protest from Lady Poynter.
"My dear Babs!"
"Of course it's a bad play! What I don't know about bad plays isn't worth knowing, I've seen so many of them! Have you ever met a woman, Mr. Lane? Have you ever even fancied that you were in love?"
Eric took a cigarette and lighted one for Barbara.
"I thought I knew a lot about life when I was twenty-two," he said, studiedly reflective. "I'd just come down from Oxford."
Her attention seemed to have wandered to her cigarette, for she drew hard at it and then asked for another match.
"Which was your college?" she enquired with neurotic suddenness of transition.
"Trinity."
"Did you know my brother? He must have been up about your time. He was at the House."