The Education of Eric Lane Part 39

"Ah, why did you remind me of that?"

"I was reminded of it myself to-day. I'm not superst.i.tious, but my luck _has_ gone. I can't write any more."

"Eric, that's not true!"

He compressed his lips and shrugged his shoulders, resignedly.

"You know best, no doubt. Since we met, I've written the first draft of a novel, which is unreadable, and a play. . . . I sent the play to Manders about a fortnight ago."

"Without telling me? Don't you like sharing things with me any longer?"

The soft reproach in her voice maddened him. She seemed incapable of seeing that she wanted the whole of him at a time when she was herself momentarily drawing away.

"You choose a curious time to ask that question! There's nothing to share. It's turned down, rejected. Nothing I can do to it will make it even possible. I can't write any more, I'm used up. . . . Yes, we may fairly say that my luck has gone. And that night, you may remember, you recommended me to fall in love, because it would be so good for me. . . ."

4

Since the exchange of incapacitated prisoners began, there had been so many delays and disappointments that the Warings remained in London, with what patience they could muster, until they received news that Jack's party was proceeding to Chateau d'Oex.

For reasons which he was at a loss to define Eric saw them off at Charing Cross. They found time amid their jubilation to be grateful to him for his trouble in making enquiries at the War Office and in expediting the issue of their pa.s.sports. As chairman of his local military tribunal, the colonel could not be absent from England for any long time on end, but they were proposing tentatively and subject to Jack's condition of health to take a villa and to stay with him by turns. Agnes and her father expected to come back after a week or ten days, leaving Mrs. Waring in charge until Christmas.

As they chatted artificially by the carriage door, there was radiance in the faces of all three; the colonel seemed more upright, Mrs. Waring had shed her set, stoical calm and, with it, about ten years.

"You won't forget to write, Agnes," said Eric, as the guard bustled along the platform, breaking up the little groups like a sheep-dog.

"It may be only a line, but I'll tell you everything when we get back,"

she promised.

A week pa.s.sed before her letter reached him.

"_We got here after the most impossible journey_," Agnes wrote from Chateau d'Oex, "_and Jack came to us yesterday. You can't imagine what it was like, seeing him again when we'd NEARLY given up hope! He's very bad--but I suppose I'd better start at the beginning. When he was taken prisoner, he'd been wounded in the head and slightly ga.s.sed. The ga.s.sing doesn't matter, except that he will always have to take care of his lungs; the head wound has left a scar and a bald place, but he can cover that up. At present he gets the most awful head-aches if he tries to do any work. The Germans let him go because he was simply wasting away on the horrible food they gave him to eat, and he's like a skeleton now.

But we're going to feed him up and put that right, and then it'll just be a question how much work and what kind of work he'll be able to do when he's well._

"_He's alive, Eric, and that's the great thing. And he's well and strong compared with some of the ghastly wrecks that you see here. I must wait till we meet before I give you a full account of all he's been through, but Major Britwell's story was quite true so far as it went. He DID insult the guard and he WAS carried off to solitary confinement for nine months. He won't talk much about that, though, but he had a most awful time; I honestly wonder that he came through it alive and in his right mind. I could cry when I look at the men here and think what they've suffered. But they CAN'T go through it again, Eric; that's one of the terms of their release, of course. They're out of the war for good; and it may be very unpatriotic, but I for one say 'Thank G.o.d!'_

"_Well, I must come to business. Father and I are staying here for another week, and I want you to do a lot of jobs for us. On a separate sheet you'll find a number of things that I want you to order and have sent out here. And on the back of this you'll find a list of names and addresses. There's so much to do, getting this house straight, that I've very little time for writing. I want you to be an angel and ring up all these people and just tell them (you know them all, I think) what I've told you._

"_Jack sends love to you, and we are all deeply grateful for what you have done and what I know you will do for us. I don't think there are any other messages._"

The list of names did not contain Barbara's. Eric telephoned to her as soon as he had received the letter, though he knew that she would be in bed and that a tiresome footman would say: "I don't think her ladyship's been called yet, sir. Perhaps you would ring up later." With patience he got into communication with her and read out the first pages of the letter. When she had thanked him, he asked with trepidation whether she had heard from Jack. An hour seemed to pa.s.s while she rang for her letters and looked at the postmarks.

"There's nothing from Switzerland," she announced at length.

Eric's heart leapt with relief. Agnes had written; surely Jack could have written, too, had he wished? In the ensuing silence Barbara's voice, suddenly toneless, came back to him.

"I'm sorry, Babs, for _your_ sake."

"Thank you, darling."

"I'll make a point of seeing Agnes as soon as she gets back to England,"

he went on.

"Thank you, darling."

"And, of course, I'll let you know anything there is to know. Very likely you'll get a letter before I see her."

"Perhaps I shall." Her voice trembled; and Eric, ceasing to weight justice or consider provocation, wished that he had Jack Waring's throat between his hands. "Well, I mustn't keep you from your work. Thank you for telling me, Eric."

"Good-bye, Babs. I suppose it wouldn't amuse you to lunch or dine with me anywhere?"

"Not to-day, I think. But I love you for asking me. Good-bye."

For a week he wrote to her twice daily, trying to forget himself in the effort to keep her amused. They met once at dinner with Lady Maitland; and it hurt him absurdly when as a matter of ritual he was detailed to see Barbara home. On the day named, Colonel Waring and Agnes arrived in London and telephoned, asking him to dine with them at their hotel.

Trepidation hid become his normal mood, and Eric walked into the lounge with his teeth set and the muscles of his cheeks hard. The burgeoning happiness of Agnes was harder to bear than ever, but he achieved a tolerable effect as the undemonstrative, phlegmatic Englishman and mingled suitable congratulations with his many questions.

"I handed on the good news to every one you mentioned," he said at the end of dinner. "And to one or two others who I thought would be interested to hear it. Did he send me any jobs or messages?"

"He wants a pipe, but father can get that. I don't think he sent any messages."

Eric looked at his watch and begged to be excused. It was half-past ten, and he had telephoned to say that he would call for Barbara at eleven and bring her home from a party in Portman Square.

When he reached the house, Eric was disconcerted to learn that Barbara had already left. He was slightly less surprised, on reaching home, to find the hall ablaze with light and Barbara lying at full length on a sofa with her cloak trailing on the carpet and a bottle of _eau-de-Cologne_ clutched in one hand.

She started and opened her eyes as he came into the room.

"Eric, did you go . . .? I'm sorry! I couldn't wait, I couldn't bear being with people. I've been asleep. I've got such a racking headache, darling."

Eric took a bottle of aspirin from the drawer of his writing-table.

"Have you had any of this to-day?" he asked. "Then I can give you fifteen grains. Wait till I've got some water." He returned with a tumbler and two cushions and seated himself at her feet. "Have you heard anything fresh from Switzerland?" he asked. "Well, I'm afraid I haven't, either. I dined with Colonel Waring and Agnes to-night, as you know."

Barbara had uncovered her eyes to hold the tumbler; but she set it on the floor, as he began to speak, and shielded her face.

"H-how is he?" she asked.

"He gets tired rather quickly, but otherwise he's all right. Leading quite a normal life, I mean."

His words were deliberately chosen to shew that Jack was in a state to have written, had he wished. His choice was not wasted on her.

"And what now, Eric?" she asked.

"Isn't that for you to say?"

Barbara uncovered her eyes again and looked slowly round the room. It had become so familiar that she no longer noticed its shape or colouring. Instinctively she knew that the sofa demanded a cushion at her back and that the arm-chair between the fire and window did not. But she had never, until now, consciously observed the carpet and curtains, the breast-high white book-cases and Chippendale writing-table, since the first night when she came there and stood tossing a gla.s.s horse-shoe idly into the air and stealing curious glances at the furniture.

She recognized it all now and remembered her earliest emotions, remembered even telling him that the first burning cigarette would spoil his grey carpet. But her vision was blurred; she fancied herself seeing through the walls, penetrating a belt of darkness and piercing other walls beyond which she sat at supper with an undemonstrative, quietly determined young man. The jig and stamp of ragtime echoed overhead--"Dixie! All abo-o-oard for Dixie! Dixie! Tak your tickuts heere for Dixie!"; she heard her own voice--"I love that one-step. Why did you drag me away in the middle?" and Jack Waring's in answer--"Well, you ought to be grateful to me for getting you a table before the rush starts." That was a few hours before war was declared, though the long banqueting-hall of Loring Castle had resounded with rumours and expositions of war throughout dinner. Almost at once Jack asked her to marry him; she once more heard his tranquil explanation--"I've just been received into your church."