of
people before I start," he added unnecessarily. "Keep next Wednesday
free for me; I want to get my people up for that."

If Barbara's engagement was going to be published at once, he felt that
he could not meet Jack after all; at one time it had seemed as though
nothing mattered, but his self-control would break down at such a test.
And Jack's headquarters were presumably still in Hampshire. . . .

There was no letter from Barbara next day; and he searched "_The
Times_" vainly for her name. Lunching with George Oakleigh, he met
Deganway who had neither news to impart nor questions to ask; at dinner
Mrs. Shelley observed with sublime innocence: "You must have been
disappointed not to be able to come the other night. Barbara was there,
and it was she who told me you were ill." The next day brought no
tidings, and Eric had to exert all his strength to keep from writing. It
was inhuman of the girl not to tell him--unless she thought that it
would be easier to bear a month later, when he was three thousand miles
away.

Four days of silence dulled his capacity for suffering; he felt that he
would not disgrace himself even if some one appealed to him as the
leading authority on Barbara's movements and asked for news of this most
romantic engagement. In a week he would be shivering in the danger-zone,
zig-zagging round the north coast of Ireland. The power of attorney only
awaited his signature, the papers were busily announcing his departure,
farewell letters and invitations were pouring in upon him.

There was so much to discuss that he found his family easy to handle.
They dined in Ryder Street; and, what with inspecting the flat (which
seemed now to belong to some other life) and raining down questions of
no importance, they contrived not to ask anything that mattered. Yes, he
was going for at least three months--perhaps more, because it would be a
pity to get as far as San Francisco without going on to Japan. Yes, he
would certainly be grateful for any letters of introduction that his
father could give him. Yes, he had bought himself an outfit that would
last him for years in all climates. . . .

Amid the primitive interrogation Eric looked up suddenly at his parents
and sister. They and the two boys in Salonica and the North Sea were all
that he had; he was fond of them, and they were devoted to him. His
mother was talking as she had done twenty years ago, when she searched
for holes in his underclothes and socks