rinding out that phrase "_As
if I'd murdered her_." . . .

5

Half-way through the morning a belated postman splashed with expectant
Christmas cheerfulness to the Mill-House and unburdened himself of a
crushed and tattered load. Eric's share included an envelope addressed
in an unknown writing and marked "Urgent," "By hand." His fingers
trembled when he found a pencilled note from Barbara.

"_Christmas Eve._

"_My scarf has just arrived. Thank you for sending it; I'm sorry to
have been so careless. And I'm afraid I DID catch cold without it.
At least I'm in bed, and the doctor says he's going to keep me here.
I want you, in spite of everything, to come and see me. Come this
afternoon, Eric, before you go down to your people. Just for a
moment. I do want to see you so badly. You won't disappoint me, will
you? I'm ill, Eric, and so very lonely. Please, please come.
Barbara._"

He pocketed the letter and went on with the others, reading them
mechanically. As her note had reached his flat after he had left, no one
could blame him for disregarding her summons; for two days he had been
spared the necessity of deciding whether it had to be disregarded; he
had another twenty-four hours at Lashmar, no telegrams were delivered on
Boxing Day, and she had in fact not telephoned. If the servants had not
stamped and forwarded the letter, he would have had no knowledge of it
until his return to Ryder Street the following day.

And then?

The family was still opening parcels and comparing cards and almanacks
in the hall. He filled a pipe and tramped up and down his father's
library, trying to decide this question without losing his head. She was
ill, he had promised to help her, he wanted to help her, he was glad of
any excuse that would spare him a repetition of that waking sense of
loss. So far from having murdered her, he was urged to return; and he
asked nothing better than to go back.

And then?

Sybil was right; they ought neither of them to permit such an intimacy,
if nothing were to come of it. Sooner or later there would be
unpleasantness; and, instead of the one painful parting which still
haunted him, there would be two. The position was unchanged from the
time when he invited her to dinner and delivered his ultimatum. He must
leave the letter unanswered; if she appealed again, he must be deaf to
the appeal. There was no need to pretend that he liked his choice. She
might ha