Half-way across the Horse Guards' Parade, he encountered George Oakleigh.
"Hallo! Come and have some lunch with me, if you've nothing better to do," he said. "I haven't seen you for a long time."
"Not since we met at Barbara Neave's," answered Oakleigh. "Where is she? I've quite lost sight of her."
"They're all down at Crawleigh," said Eric. Every one would come to him as the leading authority on Barbara's movements. "What about the Carlton? I can usually get hold of a table."
As they entered the lounge, Eric wondered why he had chosen this of all places. Last night's ordeal should have kept him away for ever; and the band was playing a waltz which he had heard when Barbara dined with him on her return from the Cap Martin. Music, especially the seductiveness of the waltz rhythm, was bad enough at any time when one needed to keep one's nerves unstimulated.…
When Oakleigh returned to the Admiralty, Eric stood aimlessly in Trafalgar Square, wondering what to do. It was too late for a matinée; and theatres were all becoming reminiscent of Barbara. He had long meant to order a new dessert-service and was only waiting until Barbara was in London again. Perhaps, that night, they would be saying good-bye for ever; he could no longer tell himself stories of the life that he wanted her to share with him. Perhaps, when she came to choose a dessert-service, it would be with some one else; she would give to some one else all that she had given him, all that she had been unable to give him.…
He was home before he knew that he was even walking homewards and thankful when his housekeeper came to discuss dinner. He chose a cigar and at once put it back in the box. His hand was shaking; and, if he once began to smoke, he would never stop. Stimulants and sedatives, he must remember, were not the same as natural food and rest; therefore he had drunk nothing at luncheon, therefore he would not smoke now. There was nothing that he could do; and Barbara's train did not reach Waterloo for another hour.…
His sense of time became dulled: Barbara was standing in the doorway before he had even thought of dressing.
"My dear! I expected to find you in bed! How dare you give me such a fright? When I got your telegram this morning—oh, I'm out of breath! I ran all the way upstairs!—you'd been saying that you felt so ill! Tell me what it's all about. I had the most awful difficulty with father about getting away; he couldn't make out why I always wanted to rush up to London just when he'd got people staying down there——"
"I didn't mean to work on your emotions," said Eric, as he helped her out of her cloak.