through fading red to russet and lemon-yellow. He had a rare
feeling of peace, as he surrendered to the voiceless magic of the still
countryside and to whimsical memories of his own childhood. Life was so
much simpler then! Life would again be so much simpler when he had Babs
driving by his side. . . . (If he could only drag her from the train and
take her home to astonish and subjugate his parents! It would be worth a
little mystery to effect that!)

If she dropped like a stone out of his life, he would raise both hands
to Heaven and pray God to take away his reason and draw a sponge across
his memory. . . .

Barbara was leaning out of the window, as the train drew into the
station. Eric ran to her compartment; but for a time they were
victimized by the nervous antics of an old lady with cumbrous luggage,
who stood in the doorway calling with shrill helplessness for a porter.

"I see your play's going to be produced at the end of the month," said
Barbara, waving her hand towards a paper on the opposite seat.

"Are you coming with me to the first night?" he asked.

"Of course!" She watched the departure of the old lady with
ill-suppressed eagerness. "Thank goodness, she's gone! What is it, Eric?
Why did you want to see me like this?"

"I always want to see you!" he laughed uneasily. Ever since he received
her letter, he had been rehearsing an effective little speech; but it
was gone from his mind now, and he found himself nervously clearing his
throat. "Babs, I'm in rather a hole and I want to do the right thing.
For some reason you always talk about my generosity. I've been thinking
it over. . . . You're absolutely free, Babs."

"But--why?" she asked blankly.

"Before writing to you, I'd heard from Jack. He'll probably be in
England within a week. I--don't want you to feel . . ." He had to leave
the sentence unfinished.

Barbara had become very pale and for a moment she said nothing.

"This--doesn't mean that you're--saying good-bye?" she faltered.

"It's a present, not an ultimatum," Eric answered sharply.

So she could still try to make the best of both worlds.

"You've always been wonderfully generous!" she whispered. "I can never
repay you."

From her tone and phrasing Eric knew that he had failed. His own
sacrifice neither stirred nor shamed her into equal generosity; the
volley was over, and the shuttlecock had dropped to the ground.

"Have you tried?" he asked sharply.

There was a whistle an