The Education of Eric Lane Part 14

"We've heard so _much_ about you from Babs," she said, struggling to finish one of her interrupted sentences. "_So_ good of you to bring her home the other night."

Eric poised himself on mental tip-toes, wondering, in general, how far Barbara made her family a party to her life and, in particular, to which night Lady Crawleigh was alluding.

"Really----," he began.

"She gets these turns," Lady Crawleigh pursued. "I blame myself entirely; I allowed her to stay on working at the hospital when she simply wasn't fit for it. Now _she_ has to pay for _my_ weakness."

Eric looked from one to the other.

"I should prescribe three months in the country, bed at ten--and make her stay there for twelve hours."

"I should be out of my mind in a week," Barbara protested.

There was a pause, and Lady Crawleigh, with a rueful shrug, turned away to speak to Gaymer.

"I _like_ the way you order me _into_ bed and _out_ of bed!" Barbara whispered. "If you cared what happened to me, it would be one thing, but, when I'm becoming a bit of a nuisance, you know. . . ."

Eric looked round cautiously and lowered his voice.

"Lady Barbara," he began.

"You persist in that?"

"Babs, then----"

"Yes, but you're receiving a favour, not conferring it."

He drew a deep breath.

"You are the most exasperating----"

"Dear Eric! I can't help teasing you! Are you the clever only child?

Well, you ought to be. . . . I don't believe any one's ever teased you before. You mustn't _be_ exasperated by me!"

Her laughter was irresistible, and Eric joined in it.

"Lady Barbara--I'm sorry--Babs, this is serious. You say you'd be out of your mind in a week, if you adopted my prescription. Let me tell you this; if you go on as you're doing now, you _will_ go out of your mind----"

"I shouldn't bother you, if I were in an asylum."

Eric stiffened and turned his attention to the food before him.

"You're not an _easy_ person to talk to----," he began.

"Oh, you dear child!" said Barbara, with a gurgle of laughter. "_Two_ minutes ago it was, 'Ahaw, Lady Crawleigh, I should prescribe . . .' And _one_ minute ago you became earnest and loving and grand-paternal, with your fond advice! Eric, I love you when you're like that! Now don't be self-conscious! 'Your ideahs of tidiness, aw, Lady Barbarah . . .'

Whatever people may say, I believe you're intelligent. In time you'll understand." Her eyes softened and ceased to laugh at him. "Less than half a week! In time you'll know what you've done for me, what I very humbly hope and pray you're going to go on doing for me. . . . You'll know why I trust you and love you more than I've ever loved any one in my life before. There! Is that plain enough? I don't say it excuses my being 'tiresome,' but it may explain it. . . . Now don't say, 'Lady Barbarah, I--er--I don't--aw--understand you!'" Her fingers twined their way confidingly between his. "Why bother? Why not go on being just what you are?" she whispered. "Something that's made me think life's still worth living. I don't _claim_ it," she added with a change of tone. "I ask it."

"And will you do something for me in return?" Eric asked. "Will you take six months' complete rest in the country, drop smoking----?"

"But I told you I should go out of my mind in a week!"

"Will you go for six weeks, six _days_?"

"You want to get rid of me?"

Eric felt his patience ebbing.

"I want to see you looking less of a haggard little wreck than you do now," he exclaimed.

"Then I'll go. Thank you, Eric."

From the end of the table Lord Crawleigh's voice penetrated authoritatively.

"Barbara! . . . Barbara! Are you coming with us by the 4.10?"

She pressed Eric's hand before turning her head.

"I can't come till the 5.40," she said.

"But, my dear Barbara----"

"I--_can't_, father."

("Bullies the life out of every one, I've always heard," Eric repeated to himself, as Lord Crawleigh subsided into inarticulate bl.u.s.tering.

"Except the girl. And she bullies him.")

"I did wonderful staff-work with Waterloo this morning," Barbara confided. "The 5.40 stops at Winchester _and_ Crawleigh."

"I could have told you that," said Eric. "So could Bradshaw, deceased."

"But fancy looking at Bradshaw, when you can persuade some one to look at it for you! . . . And you can't get _any_where in Bradshaw without going through the Severn Tunnel and waiting two hours at Bletchley.

Besides, Waterloo rather loved me. Just my voice, you know. . . . We'll go down together. You can wire to your people."

"I told them I'd come by the 5.40."

"But how lucky!"

"How--understanding," he amended.

"_If you can be sure of your opponent, you may win by throwing down your weapon. It is the victory of the weak over the strong, the 'tyranny of tears.' Or perhaps it is the victory of the weak over the weaker. But you must be sure of your opponent._"--From the Diary of Eric Lane.

CHAPTER THREE

LASHMAR MILL-HOUSE