ess."

To his amazement she had sprung to her feet, angry and disfigured,
forgetting to break through his guard, tossing her weapon away; no
longer teasing, imperious or purposely reckless; and without one of her
disarming lapses into simplicity. It was the mingled pain and anger of a
flesh-wound clumsily reopened. The next moment she had collapsed on the
sofa, stiffly upright, staring at him with hot eyes. Then the set cheeks
and compressed lips relaxed like the scattering petals of a blown rose;
her mouth drooped, her eyes half-closed, and she began to cry.

Eric looked in consternation at her puckered, pathetic face, suddenly
colourless save for dark rings round the big, hollow eyes. Then he sat
down and drew her to him, patting her hand and talking to her half as if
she were a child, half as though she were capable of understanding his
weighty diagnosis.

"Lady Barbara! Lady Barbara! Are you listening to me? You mustn't
cry--_really_. . . . It takes away _all_ your prettiness. Now, you were
fairly hard on me at dinner, weren't you? But I do possess _some_
intelligence; I didn't need to have Lady Poynter shouting from the
house-top that you were ill. You're worn out, you ought to be in bed and
you ought to stay there, instead of exciting yourself. Lady Barbara,
_please_ stop crying! I don't know what I said, but I'm very humbly
sorry. Won't you stop?"

She stiffened herself with a jerk and smiled as abruptly.

"It was my fault. I've not been well and I've been very miserable. Give
me a little kiss, Eric, to shew you're not angry with me."

She leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders again.

"Why should I be angry with you?" he asked with a defensive laugh.

Her hands dropped into her lap.

"You won't kiss me?"

"What difference would it make?"

"I ask you to. What difference would it make to you?"

Eric fumbled industriously with a cigarette.

"It so happens that I've never kissed any one," he said, "except my
mother and sister, of course." Then, as she sat hungrily reproachful, he
repeated: "What _difference_ would it make?"

"You wouldn't understand . . ." she sighed. "And yet I thought you
would. Where did you get that tray from, Eric? You've never been to
India, have you?"

"It was given me by an uncle of mine. Lady Barbara--If it will give you
any satisfaction. . . ."

He kissed her forehead with shame-faced timidity and became discursively
explanatory.

"The candle-sticks were lo