om, my own room, smoking-room. No, the limits of
my unconventionality are soon reached; you can finish your soda-water in
the smoking-room, and then I'll take you home."

"But I should _like_ to see your room," she answered with the grave
persistence of an unreasonable child. "Mine's purple and white in
London--purple carpet, purple curtains, purple counterpane--and nothing
but white--except the rose-wood, of course--at Crawleigh."

"This is the smoking-room," said Eric, conscientiously firm and
unimpressed.

Barbara gave a little gasp of pleasure as he flooded the room with
light. Book-cases surrounded three walls, stretching half-way to the
ceiling and topped with rose-bowls and bronzes. The fourth was warmed by
long _rose Du Barry_ curtains over the two windows; between them stood
a Chippendale writing-table. The rest of the room was given up to an
irregular circle of sofas and arm-chairs, white-covered and laden with
_rose Du Barry_ satin cushions, surrounding a second table.

"I _am_ glad I came!" she cried. "You know how to make yourself
comfortable, Eric! Of course, the first cigarette I drop on your
adorable grey carpet--you see how it matches my dress?--the first
cigarette spoils it for ever. _And_ the roses!" With a
characteristically impulsive jerk she dragged the tulle band and
artificial flower from her hair, tossed them to Eric and stretched her
hand up for a red rose to take their place. "Ah! beloved celibate! not a
mirror in the room! I shall _have_ to----"

"Please stay where you are, Lady Barbara."

She crammed the rose carelessly into her hair and dropped on the nearest
sofa.

"_Do_ take that coat off and sit down here!" she begged him.

"I'm waiting to take you home."

"But I'm not going home yet. I'm enjoying myself, I'm happy."

"I'm waiting to take you home," he repeated.

She pouted and glanced up at him through half-closed eyes.

"You don't care whether I'm happy or not. You're _soullessly_ selfish!"
She looked round and helped herself to a cigarette; then her hand crept
invitingly, with the shy daring of a mouse, along the sofa. "I want a
match."

Eric took the cigarette and replaced it in its box.

"Bed-time," he said. "This meeting was not of my contriving, Lady
Barbara, and, when you've learned the meaning of words, you'll find that
it won't affect your _happiness_----"

His flow was arrested by a startling gasp.

"Oh, it's no good!" Barbara cried. "You're hopeless, hopel