very unpatriotic, but I for one say 'Thank God!'_

"_Well, I must come to business. Father and I are staying here for
another week, and I want you to do a lot of jobs for us. On a separate
sheet you'll find a number of things that I want you to order and have
sent out here. And on the back of this you'll find a list of names and
addresses. There's so much to do, getting this house straight, that I've
very little time for writing. I want you to be an angel and ring up all
these people and just tell them (you know them all, I think) what I've
told you._

"_Jack sends love to you, and we are all deeply grateful for what you
have done and what I know you will do for us. I don't think there are
any other messages._"

The list of names did not contain Barbara's. Eric telephoned to her as
soon as he had received the letter, though he knew that she would be in
bed and that a tiresome footman would say: "I don't think her ladyship's
been called yet, sir. Perhaps you would ring up later." With patience he
got into communication with her and read out the first pages of the
letter. When she had thanked him, he asked with trepidation whether she
had heard from Jack. An hour seemed to pass while she rang for her
letters and looked at the postmarks.

"There's nothing from Switzerland," she announced at length.

Eric's heart leapt with relief. Agnes had written; surely Jack could
have written, too, had he wished? In the ensuing silence Barbara's
voice, suddenly toneless, came back to him.

"I'm sorry, Babs, for _your_ sake."

"Thank you, darling."

"I'll make a point of seeing Agnes as soon as she gets back to England,"
he went on.

"Thank you, darling."

"And, of course, I'll let you know anything there is to know. Very
likely you'll get a letter before I see her."

"Perhaps I shall." Her voice trembled; and Eric, ceasing to weight
justice or consider provocation, wished that he had Jack Waring's throat
between his hands. "Well, I mustn't keep you from your work. Thank you
for telling me, Eric."

"Good-bye, Babs. I suppose it wouldn't amuse you to lunch or dine with
me anywhere?"

"Not to-day, I think. But I love you for asking me. Good-bye."

For a week he wrote to her twice daily, trying to forget himself in the
effort to keep her amused. They met once at dinner with Lady Maitland;
and it hurt him absurdly when as a matter of ritual he was detailed to
see Barbara home. On the day named, Colonel Waring and Agnes arr