wenty minutes later, when he came out of his bath, Lady Lane was
sitting in his bedroom.

"I didn't shew you Geoff's last letter," she said. "You'll see he says
something about 'The Bomb-Shell'; one of his friends has been to see it
and liked it very much."

Eric propped the letter against his looking-glass, as he began to dress.

"I say, have people down here really been marrying me off?" he asked.

Lady Lane's face, reflected in the mirror, was passive and incurious.

"There was some report in one of the papers, I believe," she explained.
"I didn't see it myself."

He volunteered nothing, and his mother looked indifferently round the
room, now exploring with her foot a shabby place in the carpet, now
rising to hook a sagging length of curtain to its ring. She had come
into his room to receive confidences and to help him; his moodiness did
not invite congratulations and was troubling her.

"I wonder if I shall _ever_ remember to bring some more shirts down
here," he mused. "I've three, four, five that I'll give you for your
bandage-class."

"I'll take them gratefully," she answered. There was a pause in which he
pushed a drawer home, selected a handkerchief and turned off the light
over his dressing-table; in another minute they would be downstairs, and
the opportunity would be gone. She slipped her arm through his and
walked to the door. "There's nothing worrying you, is there, Eric?"

"I'm afraid I've rather a faculty for letting things worry me," he
laughed. "If one didn't always have to work against time, at high
pressure----"

His mother was not deceived into thinking that work had anything to do
with his mood.

"No new worries?" she suggested. "The last month or two . . . You're not
looking well; that's why I asked. If you ever feel there's anything I
can do . . ."

The subject was dismissed as she opened the door. She was glad that she
had given him no opportunity of a denial, for Eric had always told her
the truth, hitherto.

He went to bed early and fell asleep at once after the restlessness of
the last two nights. When he felt his way back to wakefulness in the
morning, there was a subconscious sense that something important had
happened; a moment later he remembered with a pang that he and Barbara
had said good-bye.

He jumped up and rang for his shaving-water, though it was not yet
seven. He must find work to do, he must keep himself continuously
occupied; otherwise his brain would go on g