"Eric, please!" she entreated.
"Have you your latch-key?"
She gave a choking sob, as she mounted the steps, and Eric set his teeth; suddenly losing control, she gripped him by the arm.
"Eric, you're not going to-morrow!"
"Indeed I am."
"When?"
"That's immaterial. Good-bye."
He returned to the taxi and pressed himself into the corner, staring ahead so that he should not see the familiar ermine coat on the door-step. Barbara fumbled blindly with the lock and spun round, as the taxi began slowly to turn. As the driver changed speed, she dropped her key and ran twenty yards down the square, crying "Eric!"; but the grinding of the gears drowned her voice.
The tail-light dwindled to a ruby pin-point and vanished.…
The telephone-bell was ringing, as Eric entered his flat. He unhooked the receiver and tossed it on to his bed; but after a moment's silence there broke out a persistent metallic buzzing, while the bells in the other rooms rang with all their accustomed clarity. He began to undress; but the merciless noise racked his nerves. There was nothing for it but to tie a handkerchief round the clapper of the bell.…