Barbara's eyes filled with fear.
"You speak as if you were putting a curse on me!"
"I don't believe in curses or blessings or luck or your other superstitions. I'm warning you—and I'll add this. You once undertook my education, but I think I can teach you one thing, one thing about love: it has to be whole-hearted.…"
He flung away and stood with his arm on the mantel-piece, fumbling the lock of a cigar-cabinet with clumsy fingers. Barbara made no sound, and after some moments he stole a look at her.
"I know," she answered quietly.
"Well——" He hesitated and then took his plunge. "You've got to decide, Babs."
"You must wait till we've heard something definite."
"No! If we heard to-morrow, to-night, in five minutes' time, it would make no difference. I want the whole of your love, I want to stand first." He waited, but she said nothing. "You've very often told me how much you loved me," he went on, ironical at her silence. "You've told me how you need me, how grateful you are to me, how much you want to make me happy——"
He had dropped into unconscious parody, and its technical excellence set her writhing.
"Don't, Eric! Please!"