ome rather late and circuitously._"

Then his secretary knocked and settled herself on the edge of an
arm-chair.

"Good-morning," Eric began. "Will you write first of all to the manager
of the bank----"

The telephone rang with a dull drone at the foot of his bed, and the
girl made tentative movements of discreet departure.

"No, you deal with this!" Eric cried. "Out of London. You're not sure
when I shall be back. Can you take a message?"

The girl picked up the instrument, while Eric glanced again through his
letters.

"Hullo! Yes. Yes. He's--away, I'm afraid. . . . But, you see, he's
_away_. . . ." She looked despairingly at Eric. "He's _awa-ay_!" Then
breathlessly she clapped the receiver back.

"It was Lady Barbara Somebody; I couldn't hear the surname. She said you
weren't away and she _must_ speak to you. I thought it was best----"

Eric had to collect himself before answering. In the sane cold light of
early morning the overnight escapade was a draggled, unromantic bit of
folly. If he met Barbara again, he would make things as easy as
possible: there would be no allusions, no sly smiles; the whole thing
was to be forgotten. And yet she was already digging it from under the
lightly sprinkled earth. If she were throwing herself on his mercy, it
was unnecessary; he had said "Good-_bye_ . . ." very distinctly. And she
must surely know that she need not beg him not to talk. . . .

"You were quite right," he told his secretary. "Where were we? Oh, the
manager----"

The bell rang again. Eric frowned and picked up the receiver, while the
girl, after a moment's hesitation, tip-toed out of the room. Barbara had
already disturbed his time-table for thirty seconds. . . .

"Hullo? Mr. Lane is away at present," he said. There was a pause. "I
told you yesterday, Lady Barbara. Just as when you say 'Not at home.'
. . . I'm exceedingly busy and I _must_ have a few days to myself.
Good-bye."

The constant factor in her overnight autobiography was that every one
had always done what Barbara wanted; but, if she fancied that she was
going to break into a working-day with any of her nonsense, she would be
disappointed.

At the other end of the line a gentle, rather tired voice said:

"Don't cut me off. If you _know_ the trouble I've had to get hold of
you! Eric, why aren't you in the book? Another device for escaping your
adorers? I've been pursuing you round London for a good half-hour; then
your people at the theat