When his secretary arrived, he sent her to Berkeley Square with the note. While she was gone, his parlour-maid came in with a swaying mass of White Enchantress carnations and a pencilled note. "May God make you happier than I've been able to do!"
Eric tried to divert his thoughts from the note by giving elaborate instructions about the flowers and his meals for the day. Before he had done, his secretary returned, and he was still dictating when a sound in the hall froze his voice and set his heart thumping.
"I hear Mr. Lane's not well. Do you think he could see me for a moment?"
"I'll enquire, my lady."
As Barbara came into the room, Eric saw that her face was grey with suffering and that she seemed hardly able to keep her heavy lids open.
"Eric, what's the matter?" she asked, coming to his bedside.
In trying to speak softly her voice, already hoarse, disappeared altogether and she rubbed her throat wonderingly.
"What's the matter with us both?" he asked weakly. "Babs …" His voice broke. "You look like death!"
Before she turned her face, he could see that she was biting her lip.
"Hush, darling child! I'm only tired; I didn't sleep very well. I kept on remembering that I'd lost some one I loved better than any one in the world," she cried tremulously.