Eric lapsed into silence, wishing that his brain were not half paralyzed. Then he glanced round the table, counting their numbers.
"Say you're too tired to play bridge, Babs," he begged. "Or say you want to talk to me before I go away; we're such common property here that no one will be surprised. It's our last chance; we may never meet again——"
"But, Eric——?"
"Yes! … I haven't told even my own people. This is not blackmail, because I arranged it all before I saw you; I never expected to see you again after that night at the theatre. I was just trying to save something out of the wreckage.… I'm going away nominally for three months, but I'm not coming back. I could have got on happily enough, if you'd never come into my life; but, once you were there, I couldn't get rid of you. I couldn't go on living in England with you half a mile away, carved out of my life … meeting you, seeing you—and knowing that it was all over. I've looked on you as my wife; if you ran away from me and lived with another man, I couldn't keep on a flat next to yours.… I felt it at the theatre; I felt I must clear out; I couldn't sink back to any passionless friendship. So I arranged to go away and stay away. After three months I shall say that I'm going for a holiday in South America—or Japan. I've been moving quickly the last few days. This morning—and this afternoon—I knew that everything I was doing was for the last time. And since I've seen you——"
He looked round apprehensively, fearful that he was being overheard.
"You're going away like this from your people? But they love you, Eric! They're so proud of you! You'll break their hearts!"
"I shouldn't have done it eighteen months ago—before you took my education in hand," he answered bitterly. "I've given myself heart and soul to you."
He hardly cared now whether the servants or his neighbours heard him, and Barbara had to press his knee to restrain him.
"Then will you do something for me?" she asked.
"What is it?"