. . .

Half-way across the Horse Guards' Parade, he encountered George
Oakleigh.

"Hallo! Come and have some lunch with me, if you've nothing better to
do," he said. "I haven't seen you for a long time."

"Not since we met at Barbara Neave's," answered Oakleigh. "Where is she?
I've quite lost sight of her."

"They're all down at Crawleigh," said Eric. Every one _would_ come to
him as the leading authority on Barbara's movements. "What about the
Carlton? I can usually get hold of a table."

As they entered the lounge, Eric wondered why he had chosen this of all
places. Last night's ordeal should have kept him away for ever; and the
band was playing a waltz which he had heard when Barbara dined with him
on her return from the Cap Martin. Music, especially the seductiveness
of the waltz rhythm, was bad enough at any time when one needed to keep
one's nerves unstimulated. . . .

When Oakleigh returned to the Admiralty, Eric stood aimlessly in
Trafalgar Square, wondering what to do. It was too late for a _matinee_;
and theatres were all becoming reminiscent of Barbara. He had long meant
to order a new dessert-service and was only waiting until Barbara was in
London again. Perhaps, that night, they would be saying good-bye for
ever; he could no longer tell himself stories of the life that he wanted
her to share with him. Perhaps, when she came to choose a
dessert-service, it would be with some one else; she would give to some
one else all that she had given him, all that she had been unable to
give him. . . .

He was home before he knew that he was even walking homewards and
thankful when his housekeeper came to discuss dinner. He chose a cigar
and at once put it back in the box. His hand was shaking; and, if he
once began to smoke, he would never stop. Stimulants and sedatives, he
must remember, were not the same as natural food and rest; therefore he
had drunk nothing at luncheon, therefore he would not smoke now. There
was nothing that he could do; and Barbara's train did not reach Waterloo
for another hour. . . .

His sense of time became dulled: Barbara was standing in the doorway
before he had even thought of dressing.

"My dear! I expected to find you in bed! How _dare_ you give me such a
fright? When I got your telegram this morning--oh, I'm out of breath! I
ran all the way upstairs!--you'd been saying that you felt so ill! Tell
me what it's all about. I had the most awful difficulty with father
about gett