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Updated: May 17, 2025
Sonia Dainton that was? H'm," said Sybil. "And Lady Barbara Neave. Are you being taken up by that set now, Ricky?" "I don't quite know what you mean by 'being taken up. I met them at dinner. . . . And I lunched with the Crawleighs to-day," he added without filling in the intervening encounters.
As if London was not full of people who would gladly spend half an hour with Barbara! As if the Crawleighs could not have cancelled their own engagement! It was transparent, but he smiled less at the artifice than at the irony of his being dragged to the house against his will and better judgement. . . . "I'd come, if I could," he answered hesitatingly.
Thinking of you all those miles away, I felt you were too good to be true. Let's go down to dinner. You've only got me, I'm afraid. Will you be bored?" "I don't suppose so," he answered, smiling; but, indefinably, he was disappointed. The Crawleighs spent a month in London before repairing to Hampshire for the summer. "Make the most of me," said Barbara, when her father's decision was made known.
It would be pleasant to drift; but, when the cloud of gossip and speculation penetrated into the heart of the Crawleighs' own home, a man of honour could not shirk the decision any longer. He could ask Barbara to marry him; or her father could inspire a paragraph in the press, admitting the rumour in order to contradict it.
Though he dawdled over his dressing, there was no telephone call to reward him; and, as the Crawleighs were spending Christmas in London, he would not meet her in the train. Half-way to Winchester he grew drowsy and fancied himself in his dreams once more kneeling on the floor beside the sofa, with his arms round Barbara's shoulders. "As if I'd murdered her."
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