The Education of Eric Lane Part 30

"Is that Mr. Lane? Oh, forgive me for disturbing you at your work. I expect you've heard that poor Babs is ill. Can you get to see her? She'd like it so much."

Eric caught himself resolutely shaking his head at the telephone.

"I'm afraid it's impossible. I've been away for Christmas, and the work here----"

"But can't you manage a moment? Look in on your way home."

"I'm very sorry; it's out of the question." He paused and repeated lamely, "I'm very sorry."

Amy sighed and made a last unsuccessful attempt to move him, only succeeding in reducing him to a state of suppressed irritation which spoiled his work for the morning. He had meant to call in Ryder Street before luncheon to collect his letters, but he could not trust himself to face the appeal which he knew he would find there. It was hard enough to do the right thing without being incited on all hands _not_ to do it--and in the name of affection and charity!

In the afternoon an unfamiliar voice enquired for him by telephone.

"Lady Crawleigh speaking. Mr. Lane, I want you to do something for me, if you'll be so kind. Are you engaged this evening?"

Eric could hardly believe that Barbara had gone the length of appealing to him through her mother.

"Well, I have a man dining with me," he improvised tentatively.

"Oh, can you possibly put him off? I'll tell you why. My husband and I have to dine out, and that means leaving Babs alone. I'm afraid she's not a good patient, and, if you could keep her amused, she'd be less likely to get up or do anything foolish. That's what she's threatening at present. I feel it's very unfair to ask you to change all your plans. . . ."

However unfair, she asked him with an a.s.surance which shewed that she would not take a refusal lightly. Eric smiled grimly to himself. As if London was not full of people who would gladly spend half an hour with Barbara! As if the Crawleighs could not have cancelled their own engagement! It was transparent, but he smiled less at the artifice than at the irony of his being dragged to the house against his will and better judgement. . . .

"I'd come, if I could," he answered hesitatingly. "The trouble is that I've invited this man for eight and I shan't be able to get away from here till half-past seven at earliest. I'll do my best----"

"I'm depending on you, Mr. Lane."

Dinner, but no one to share it with him, had been ordered for a quarter past eight. He telephoned at seven to say that he might be a little late and set out for Berkeley Square. Barbara was alone when he arrived, and he entered her room in some embarra.s.sment. He could not imagine Sybil's receiving male visitors in her bedroom, and he was shy to find himself alone with Barbara and to see her lying in a blue silk kimono with the Persian kitten asleep on a chair by her side and two tables submerged by Madonna lilies. As he hesitated on the threshold, she smiled wistfully and at the same time with a certain triumphant confidence in her setting.

"I was--very sorry to hear you were ill, Babs," he said.

"I've waited for you so long! Won't you kiss me, Eric?"

He picked up the kitten, affecting not to have heard her.

"What is it? A chill? Your mother said---- No, I don't think she told me what it was."

Restraint faltered with every hesitating word, and Barbara pushed the kitten's cushion on to the floor.

"Sit down, darling," she begged.

"I must go in a minute," said Eric, gravely consulting his watch.

"Who have you got dining with you?" He hesitated. "Any one?"

"As a matter of fact, I've not. I lied to your mother. You see I didn't want to meet you, Babs. I didn't want to go through that other night again."

He was still standing; but, without noticing, he had drawn nearer to the bed, and she pulled him gently into the chair.

"Haven't you missed me, Eric?" she whispered.

"d.a.m.nably!" His laugh was bitter. "I don't see how it's to be avoided, though. And we only make things worse by prolonging the agony. The infernal story's spread to Lashmar now."

Barbara's lips curled a.s.sertively.

"I'm sorry you should suffer so much by a.s.sociation with me. . . . If you aren't expecting any one, will you dine with me, Eric?"

He tried to review his position in the moment allowed him before his answer would begin to seem hesitating. Once in the house, it mattered little whether he stayed one hour or three; but they were fools, both of them, to contrive or a.s.sent to his being there. Firmly, if indistinctly, he felt that she was trying to slip behind the decision of their last meeting.

"I'll stay if you like," he said and watched her ring the bell for her maid. "Babs, are you well enough to talk seriously? I don't want to say good-bye, but nothing's changed. We've the choice between a public contradiction----"

"Or a public engagement? Is that what you're afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of it."

She sank lower in the bed, covering her eyes with her hand.

"You've never asked me to marry you," she said quietly, this time without a taunt.

"You expressly asked me not to."

"You always--boasted that you weren't in love with me."

A hint of triumph in her voice made him wonder in fear and disgust whether this was the way in which she had played with Jack Waring. She was sweeping him faster than he wanted to go; but, for all his misgivings, he could not stop.

"D'you think either of us knew what we meant to the other until these last three days?" he asked gently. "Everything was too easy before," he added, remembering Amy's warning.

Barbara uncovered her eyes and held her arms open to him.

"I've always loved you, Eric."

"I've been--very fond of you."

"And now you want to marry me?" she whispered, and her eyes shone with expectation.

"D'you want me to ask you to?"

For a moment she had seemed to speak with pa.s.sion, but, before he could notice the transition, he found her only trying on pa.s.sion's garments.

"No, I don't," she answered slowly. "I couldn't bear it. You _know_ I'm not free! But do you want to give me up? You've had a good deal of me since August and now you've had three days without me. D'you _want_ to marry me?"

Eric felt indistinctly that he was no longer the man who had come reluctantly to the house to do her a favour; yet he had always been able to bring her to her knees by refusing to meet or write to her; if he put her need of him to the test, with separation as an alternative, she must surrender.

"Yes, I do," he answered.

Her hand went up and covered her eyes again. While he waited for her to speak, his memory flung up, one after another, the moods of loss and loneliness that he had undergone since the telephone grew silent and no letter came from her. A warm wave of tenderness swept over him, as he imagined the glory of having her youth and wit and beauty entrusted to him.

"For G.o.d's sake, don't ask me that, Eric!" she whispered.