"I should horsewhip him," Eric resumed jerkily.
She considered him curiously with her head on one side.
"You know, I don't feel afraid of you," she told him. "I could trust you anywhere. You're not old enough to understand that yet, but you will."
"Then for the present it's irrelevant. Come along, Lady Barbara."
He advanced a step, but she only smiled at him without moving. Eric looked angrily round, but the stream of passers-by, though sluggish, shewed no signs of drying up. A clock inside the hall began to chime midnight, and he turned on his heel. As he did so, a taxi turned into the street, and an officer climbed gingerly out and hoisted himself across the pavement on two crutches. Barbara coughed and drew her shawl round her until half her face was hidden.
"But, Eric dear, you can't have lost the key," she expostulated, purposefully clear.
Over the shawl her eyes were gleaming with mischief and triumph.
The officer looked quickly from one to the other.
"Hullo! You locked out?" he enquired sympathetically. "Rotten luck! Here, let me put you out of your misery! Hope you haven't been waiting long?"
"That is sweet of you," said Barbara. "Long? I seem to have been standing here all day. Come on, Eric; I'm frightfully tired; I want to sit down."