The Education of Eric Lane

give her a chance of meeting young Eric Lane; Gerald Deganway had murmured, "One poor martyr without a lion"; and, as Deganway was incapable of originating anything, Lady Poynter felt that she

wing down her pen so that it described a

ride to neglect. Why, she asked, were men given brains if they made gods of their bellies? Mrs. Shelley was the widow of a well-known free-lance journalist, who in his day had brought her into contact with a sufficient number of authors for her to imitate on austerely simple lines the symposia of wit and learning which Lady Poynter assembled on the strength of her own personality and her hus

, disengaging herself from Lady Poynter's embrace and indicatin

d. "In war-time, when we haven't a moment to tur

was a dusty brown, her eyes an unsoftening grey, and her cheeks, which were careworn with exacti

leaning forward to the mirror and dabbing at herself w

s of a hay-rake in soft mud. "Who else? Sonia O'Rane you know; Max-or did Max say he was dining at his club? It doesn't matter, beca

allowances for all and permitted ill-speaking of none. In the years before the war, when Lady Barbara's friends were wonderi

et in Bond Street this morning; I hadn't meant to invite her, but I felt I must do something.…" Lady Poynter project

nd she watched Mrs. O'Rane descending daintily and smiling at the driver; a second taxi drove from the opposite corner of the square, and Captain Gaymer, in Flying Corps uniform, jumped out and hurried to th

s Neave is sure to be late. That leav

rowned by Gaymer, who knit

rs to-day, when I was having my hair cut. Oh, I know! He'd left London, and letters weren't

luncheon, the Duchess of Ross had wired: "Don't know you but must. Have just seen your play. When

note of the time in his book … only two days ago.… An

rised smile of recognition which always made them feel that they had been missed; but Mrs. Shelley, she would wager, was privately noting that a dove-coloured silk dress and a scarlet shawl embroidered with birds in flight made a white face look ashen; Sonia O'Rane was probably wondering why her maid did not tell her that a band of bla

party for you," said Lady Poynter, forgiving the g

with eyes which had lost their momentary colour

with the mirthlessness of physical exhaustion. "Well, Max! And Johnnie! I'm sorry to be

u're losing all your looks, and that black thing gives you a face like a sheet of mourning

again, as listl

er credit.… But I'm a dull subject of conver

are of her, but, though she remembered his voice, she was too giddy to see or recall his face. On arriving at her father's house in Berkeley Square, she found her fingers grasping a silver flask with a monogram "E. L."; and that morning, when Lady Poynter invited her to dinner, she had divined that "E. L." must stand for Eric Lane. The coincidence would not have been worth following by itself, but in the latter days of her illness she had repeatedly dreamed of a child with the stranger's voice; and, vaguely and shamefacedly, Barbara believed that dreams had

dignation returning reinforced by hunger. "You might ring the bel

explained. "Captain Gaymer wa

I've never met h

she was ill and unresisting, it was comforting to feel that she was not responsible for all the follies and the one crime which had ruined her life; but it was sad to feel that she would never meet

There was a tiny stir of interest among those who had not met him and of surprise among all. Eric's eyes narrowed for a moment under the lig

Why did you frighten us by announcing in the papers

hands with

icily collected than any one in the room. "I'm f-frightfully overworked at present with rehearsals and things, so I applied for a f-fortnight's leave f

at Waterloo. She was paralyzed with dread of the moment when he would recognize her, for she had nothing adequate to the drama of their meeting.… He shook hands first with those nearest to him, and she hastened to make a mental picture before he saw that she was watching him;

elf trembling with relief; and the reaction swept away disappointment and all interest but dislike. Voice and eyes, movements and manner became hateful to her; she longed for an opp

dy Poynter, with an unconcentrated "Babs, you haven't met Mr.

n undertone, as he and Gaymer prepared to

you know her?" Gaym

course. I didn'

rather ill

ociety performances, and the illustrated papers gave her a full-page photograph after any of the big costume balls. And, like most of his generation, he knew her by reputation better than by sight; for half-a-dozen years her epigrams and escapades had been on every one's lips; while he was still at O

le at which she was seated convinced him that he had left an unfavourable impression on h