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Updated: June 27, 2025
"I should have been very uncomfortable if I hadn't known that you were thinking of me, waiting for me, loving me, even " "And you'll get on very comfortably when you're at Crawleigh Abbey," he persisted. "And to-morrow " "I've said I'll come to-morrow. Eric, you're not jealous of my dining with other people? You're talking as if you were trying to pick a quarrel. You were always so sweet. . . ."
He was shy of entering a house to which he had not been officially admitted, confronting a strange butler, being pushed into a room to wait for her, meeting and explaining himself to Lord Crawleigh or one of the brothers, who would look superciliously at "Babs' latest capture." . . . "I'll meet you at Mrs. Shelley's," he said. The hand was withdrawn, and he could see her biting her lip.
It must be a glorious sensation to make such a success at the outset." Lord Crawleigh interrupted an indignant, staccato conversation with Lady Maitland, who was holding her own with emphatic shakes of a massive head, to touch finger-tips and introduce him to his sister the whole done cholerically and with the air of transacting a great deal of tiresome business in a short time.
"I've just finished having high-tea at a pastry-cook's," came the answer, "and they let me telephone. I've had a poached egg and a sausage roll and four meringues." "You'll be ill. Are the little Jutterlys with you?" "Rather not. They're in a pigstye." "A pigstye? Why? What pigstye?" "Near the Crawleigh Road.
"But I'm afraid I'm occupying an unfair proportion of your time and strength at a season when you've faithfully promised to take care of yourself and to have a proper rest. I hope you didn't get carried beyond Crawleigh station; it's been rather on my conscience that I got out at Winchester instead of coming on with you the whole way.
If there's no further news . . . Wait till my birthday!" Next morning, Barbara departed to Crawleigh Abbey, and for a month they did not meet. As spring budded and blossomed into summer, Eric counted the days that separated him from the fulfilment of her promise.
Lady Crawleigh was timorous and subdued, with an air of having been all her life interrupted in the middle of her sentences and with a compensating pair of flashing pigeon's eyes which seemed to miss nothing. "I'm so glad Babs gave us the opportunity of meeting you," she said to Eric. "I enjoyed your play so much. Your first, wasn't it?
Her mother and the doctor had tried to keep her at home; but natural obstinacy and uncontrollable whim had been too much for them. A few weeks ago she had fainted in the train, as she returned to London from Crawleigh Abbey; an unknown man had taken care of her, but, though she remembered his voice, she was too giddy to see or recall his face.
If he could work her up, he could find room for her; but he must also find some one to play her with a breathless, unpunctuated patter; Kitty Walters seemed to have gone to America for good, but Dorothy Martlet could take the part. . . . The whole dinner, the atmosphere of the place were a satire on life in a remote country-house. He wondered what the party at Crawleigh Abbey was like. . . .
Within seven days he might be taking train for Crawleigh to shew what was left of him and to ask whether Barbara wished to withdraw her promise. Within six days she might be begging to be set free, appealing to Eric's love and magnanimity. . . .
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