re.

"You wouldn't like me to drop you in Ryder Street?" Barbara asked.

"Not even to gratify your love of artistic finish."

"How you hate me!" she whispered with a catch in her breath.

"No, I love you as much as ever; I need you more than ever. Whatever
happens to you, I wish you all happiness. You once undertook my
education, but I can tell you that you'll never find the happiness I'm
wishing you till you learn to sink yourself and think of other people."

Barbara looked at him like a startled animal, then looked away.

"Haven't I sunk myself, haven't I thought of Jack before any one else
for two and a half years?" she whispered.

"No, you've thought solely of yourself--with Jack as a limelight. At
this moment you're thinking less of Jack or me than of your _amour
propre_."

"You must be thankful to be rid of me after the way I've sacrificed you
to my vanity."

"You'll outgrow your vanity."

"Perhaps Jack still wants me in spite of the way I've behaved to _him_."

"Perhaps so. I shan't be here to see."

The taxi turned into Berkeley Street, and Eric held out his hand.

"Good-bye, Barbara," he said.

"Won't you come in for a moment?"

"No, thank you."

"Eric, you must! There's something I want to say to you! Eric, I _beg_
you to come in."

He opened the door without answering and stood on the kerb, ready to
help her out. She delayed so long that the driver turned curiously
round.

"Eric, please!" she entreated.

"Have you your latch-key?"

She gave a choking sob, as she mounted the steps, and Eric set his
teeth; suddenly losing control, she gripped him by the arm.

"Eric, you're _not_ going to-morrow!"

"Indeed I am."

"When?"

"That's immaterial. Good-bye."

He returned to the taxi and pressed himself into the corner, staring
ahead so that he should not see the familiar ermine coat on the
door-step. Barbara fumbled blindly with the lock and spun round, as the
taxi began slowly to turn. As the driver changed speed, she dropped her
key and ran twenty yards down the square, crying "Eric!"; but the
grinding of the gears drowned her voice.

The tail-light dwindled to a ruby pin-point and vanished. . . .

The telephone-bell was ringing, as Eric entered his flat. He unhooked
the receiver and tossed it on to his bed; but after a moment's silence
there broke out a persistent metallic buzzing, while the bells in the
other rooms rang with all their accustomed clarity. He began to undress;
b