We talked at random until Sonia came to collect him for another party.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t bring Eric,” I heard him say to Barbara on leaving. “Some friend of his had a first night; and he’d promised to look in.”
“Did he say if he was coming on?,” asked Barbara.
“I should think it depends on the time. There was some talk about a supper-party afterwards.”
“Then I don’t suppose he will,” she answered with the composure of complete indifference. “Good-night, David. Good-night, Sonia.”
When we were by ourselves, I sent the servants to bed; and we sat for half-an-hour discussing the party.
“Half-past one,” she sighed at last. “Nobody can be coming now.”
“If any one does,” I said, “he’ll find an excellent doorstep to sit on. Come to bed, Babs.”
“I must write one letter first. You go on and turn out the lights. If you see my torch, you might put it on the hall-table.”
I chose a book and went to my room. Only when I was in bed did I discover that I had brought the wrong book; and, on going downstairs again, I saw the lights in the hall blazing. Then, as I reached the drawing-room, I caught sight of Barbara, seated in a high-backed chair at the stair-head. At first I thought she was asleep; then I saw that she was staring through the hall to the front door.