se you know I want to
work and you think it will be such fun to upset my arrangements even by
ten minutes."

Barbara smiled at him over her shoulder.

"We're a game all," she pleaded, motioning him back to the sofa.

Eric smiled and lit a cigarette from the stump of his cigar.

Ten minutes later they were driving along Piccadilly towards Berkeley
Square, Eric rather tired, Barbara excited and restlessly voluble.

"Is Mr. Lane going to forget our second meeting as quickly and
completely as he forgot the first?" she asked.

"The first?" Eric echoed. "This is the first time I've set eyes on
you--except in the distance at theatres and places."

"It's the first time I've ever seen your face; but I recognized your
voice and, if you will come into the house for a moment, I can restore a
certain flask."

Eric turned on her in amazement.

"Was that _you_? Well . . . Good . . . Good Heavens!"

Barbara laughed softly.

"Try not to forget me so quickly again! I've still to apologize for
being such a beast when we met to-night. I was ill . . . and
miserable----"

"I had no idea!" Eric cried. "And I stared at you for an hour on
end--trying to count your pulse by a watch without a second-hand. . . .
But you've changed so! I used to catch sight of you before the war----"

"I've travelled a lot since then," she interrupted. "The whole way
through Purgatory to Hell."

Eric tried to remember whether the war had robbed her of any one but Jim
Loring.

"_Since_ that day you've changed so much again."

"Perhaps I'm taking a holiday from Hell. And, as you know, I'm not a
good traveller."

He let down the window and threw away the end of his cigarette.

"I thought you were going to die that day," he murmured half to himself.
"When I handed you over to your maid. . . . Lady Barbara, why don't you
take a little more care of yourself?"

"D'you think I should be missed?"

"I can well imagine---- Here! He's going wrong!"

The carriage had overshot Berkeley Street; but, as Eric leaned towards
the open window, Barbara caught him suddenly by the wrist and shoulder
until she had turned him to face her.

"Where d'you live?" she demanded peremptorily; and, when he had told
her, "Put your head out and tell him to go there."

"But we're almost in Berkeley Square now."

"Do as I tell you! I'm coming to pay you a call."

He disengaged her hands and lay back in his corner.

"It's a little late for you to be calling on me," he