Eric was startled, and his expression and tone grew hard.
“It’s very good of her to interest herself in me,” he murmured.
Gaisford ignored the sneer and gave Eric time to recover his urbanity.
“It’s very natural,” he amended. “I told you, when you first came back, that you’d played far too big a part in her life for her to let go of you without a struggle. You may think that, after the harm she’s done, she’d keep away out of common decency—that’s a man’s point of view—; but, when a woman gets down to what she considers vital, common decency has no meaning for her. The function of woman—”
“What did she say?,” Eric interrupted, blowing away the froth of generalization.
“We had a long talk. She asked if I’d seen you, and I said ‘Yes.’ How were you? I said you were better than you’d been in ten years. Did you seem happy? ‘Very,’ I said. (I’m devoted to Barbara in spite of everything, but she wanted the luxury of feeling that she’d spoilt your life and of pretending to be inconsolable about it; I couldn’t allow that). She asked if you ever mentioned her; I said ‘no’... Then I could see that she wasn’t satisfied, for her next question was—who was the girl who was working for you; and was she the girl who was always with you at the opera? I said, truthfully enough, that I didn’t know... Be warned, my friend.”
“I wonder how she heard,” was all that Eric would answer; but he was aflame with resentment at the thought that Barbara even unconsciously dreamed of overturning the flimsy shelter which he was so patiently erecting from the rubble and ruin of his life.
Gaisford looked at him out of the corner of his eye and saw that he was frowning. He saw, too, that, were Barbara to question him now, he could not so truthfully pay tributes to Eric’s health.
“Well, I wish you the best of luck, my son,” he said. “Of course, it’s an enormous risk, but I think you do at least see that; and you’re giving yourself as fair a chance as circumstances allow.”
“You’re—temperate in your enthusiasm,” Eric laughed.