She walked into the hall, beckoning him with a jerk of her head. The officer bade them good-night and limped to a ground-floor flat at the end.
"I'm going to my club, Lady Barbara," said Eric with slow distinctness from the door-step.
"Then I shall bang on every door I see until I find your flat," she retorted promptly. "I've told you, I want some soda-water. And, Eric——"
"Yes, Lady Barbara."
"Eric, I always get what I want. Who lives here, do you suppose? We'll try his door first."
Eric came in and walked to the foot of the stairs. Barbara slipped her arm through his, but he shook it away.
"I'm tired," she explained. "I wish you wouldn't be so rough with me."
She replaced her arm, and, rather than engage in a childish brawl, Eric left it there, though the touch of her fingers on his wrist set his blood tingling. They walked slowly, for he was trying to set his racing thoughts in order. This, then, was the true Lady Barbara Neave. He had never believed the fantastic stories about her, but she was now gratuitously shewing him that she was of those who stopped at nothing.
He felt the sudden unpitying disgust of a disappointed idealist. She was very young, with expressions which made her wholly beautiful at times.… "Virginal" was the word he was trying to find.… He wondered how to rid himself of her without a scene.
"If you'll let go my arm, I'll open the door," he said with stiff patience.