"I'm very sorry; it's out of the question." He paused and repeated
lamely, "I'm very sorry."

Amy sighed and made a last unsuccessful attempt to move him, only
succeeding in reducing him to a state of suppressed irritation which
spoiled his work for the morning. He had meant to call in Ryder Street
before luncheon to collect his letters, but he could not trust himself
to face the appeal which he knew he would find there. It was hard enough
to do the right thing without being incited on all hands _not_ to do
it--and in the name of affection and charity!

In the afternoon an unfamiliar voice enquired for him by telephone.

"Lady Crawleigh speaking. Mr. Lane, I want you to do something for me,
if you'll be so kind. Are you engaged this evening?"

Eric could hardly believe that Barbara had gone the length of appealing
to him through her mother.

"Well, I have a man dining with me," he improvised tentatively.

"Oh, can you possibly put him off? I'll tell you why. My husband and I
have to dine out, and that means leaving Babs alone. I'm afraid she's
not a good patient, and, if you could keep her amused, she'd be less
likely to get up or do anything foolish. That's what she's threatening
at present. I feel it's very unfair to ask you to change all your
plans. . . ."

However unfair, she asked him with an assurance which shewed that she
would not take a refusal lightly. Eric smiled grimly to himself. As if
London was not full of people who would gladly spend half an hour with
Barbara! As if the Crawleighs could not have cancelled their own
engagement! It was transparent, but he smiled less at the artifice than
at the irony of his being dragged to the house against his will and
better judgement. . . .

"I'd come, if I could," he answered hesitatingly. "The trouble is that
I've invited this man for eight and I shan't be able to get away from
here till half-past seven at earliest. I'll do my best----"

"I'm depending on you, Mr. Lane."

Dinner, but no one to share it with him, had been ordered for a quarter
past eight. He telephoned at seven to say that he might be a little late
and set out for Berkeley Square. Barbara was alone when he arrived, and
he entered her room in some embarrassment. He could not imagine Sybil's
receiving male visitors in her bedroom, and he was shy to find himself
alone with Barbara and to see her lying in a blue silk kimono with the
Persian kitten asleep on a chair by her side and two table