She finished the letter and switched off the light. Darkness was not going to usher in faces to-night. Her soul felt healed.
"You absurd darling child!"
She whispered the words aloud and felt warm tears over-brimming her eyes. She loved him for his extraordinary callow youth—which had carried the chaste chivalry of sixteen to the age of twice sixteen; she loved his little occasional tender gleams of womanliness.… And he was so easy to mystify and tease. She felt the warmth and the taut muscles of his arm round her body as he led her home across St. James' Park, her head on his shoulder, sleeping, secure and forgetful.
"Dear Eric, I wish you were here now!" she murmured.
Lord Crawleigh, indignant that Barbara should desert her own party the first night, but vaguely disquieted that she was ill enough to go to bed of her own volition, peeped into her room on his way down to dinner. There was no answer to his jerky, sharp call of "Barbara" and he turned on the light. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling; he walked to the bed to make certain that she was not trying any of her tricks on him.
"Barbara!"
"Yes, darling?"
She opened her eyes, and their drowsy contentment faded away.
"I only came to see if you were asleep."
"I'm not—now," she answered wistfully.