ffidence had evaporated before the memory of the darkened
theatre, the insistent calls of "Author," his effort--while waiting for
the applause to die down--to distinguish faces in the stalls, the
renewed clapping at his speech's end, the _levee_ in their box and the
triumphant supper.

"I'm too happy to be teased, Eric," she answered, nestling to his side.
"It isn't the great play that you're going to write some day, when
you've learned . . . and suffered; you still get your women out of
rag-books and toy-shops; but it's very clever, it's a great success and
it's made you happy. That's what matters. Who was the man in the box
that you called 'sir'?"

"I call most men 'sir,' if they're older than I am."

"He was with a girl in a grey dress and some rather good pearls."

Eric thought for a moment and looked at her in some surprise.

"That was Colonel Waring--Jack's father. The girl was Jack's sister
Agnes."

Barbara did not answer for a moment.

"I thought it was _him_ at first," she whispered.

Since the night of Barbara's confession, Jack's name had never been
mentioned. If he were indeed killed, her memory of him would gradually
wither and die; and it was almost impossible to discuss him without
taking sides and indulging in moral judgements. The Warings had
exhausted every means of getting news and would soon be forced to
presume his death; perhaps they had already done so, but Eric was
avoiding Red Roofs since his discovery that he did not want to marry
Agnes. Amid the turmoil of greetings and congratulations, he had found
time to feel embarrassed by her presence in the box; until Barbara took
the light and colour out of all other women, Agnes had satisfied every
demand. He was embarrassed, too, by seeing the two girls face to face,
watching, measuring and unobtrusively speculating about each other, as
women always did; if there were room for moral judgements, Barbara had
no defence against Jack Waring's sister.

"She gave me that glass horse-shoe for luck the night my first play was
produced," said Eric irrelevantly.

"And Jack gave me the counterpart," Barbara sighed. "That's why I wanted
yours to replace it. Instead of which I only broke yours."

"Well, you haven't broken my luck, as you feared."

Her shoulder, pressing against his, communicated a shudder. Though three
months had passed without news of Jack, Barbara could not feel secure
even when she was alone with Eric.

"Don't boast. You may yet