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Updated: June 24, 2025
Eric looked from one to the other. "I should prescribe three months in the country, bed at ten and make her stay there for twelve hours." "I should be out of my mind in a week," Barbara protested. There was a pause, and Lady Crawleigh, with a rueful shrug, turned away to speak to Gaymer. "I like the way you order me into bed and out of bed!" Barbara whispered.
"I knew you by sight at Oxford," said Lord Neave, withdrawing his limp hand jerkily, as though he feared that it would be stolen. "You were at Trinity, weren't you? You, er, know my brother Charles Mr. Lane." Eric grasped a second limp hand, received a quick, business-like nod from John Gaymer and found himself confronted by the Duchess of Ross.
I can see that our host won't rest content till I've promised to dine here three times a week to drink his port; I've been good value to Lady Poynter; if I play bridge, I shall lose a lot of money to Gaymer not that I don't play quite a fair game, but I'm sure, without even seeing him, that he plays a diabolically good game and I know I shall cut against him. Mrs. Shelley?
"Captain Gaymer was saying that he'd left London." "Oh! I'm sorry. I've never met him," said Barbara. Evidently she was predestined never to meet him; and the noise and light made her too giddy to decide whether she was relieved or disappointed.
"She's the only one here who knows me, but she didn't tell you much." "I shan't say." Three impatient voices from the bridge-table met and struggled in an unmelodious chorus of "Babs! Come here!" She returned a moment later, but had hardly sat down before Gaymer spread out the substantial remains of his hand with a challenge of "Any one anything to say about the rest?
The Flying Corps, at first sight, was an unassimilating environment for a John Gaymer, but this one had not gone in alone and he had certainly not been assimilated. A closely knit and self-isolated group had formed itself there, as it could be trusted to form itself in a house-party or under the shadow of the guillotine, genially unapproachable and uncaringly envied.
He was shaking hands now with Mrs. Shelley, and Barbara grew rigid with fear. His face turned, and their eyes met; but he passed on to Gaymer without recognizing her. She found herself trembling with relief; and the reaction swept away disappointment and all interest but dislike.
"Two. Four," he counted timidly. "Babs Neave is sure to be late. That leaves only Lane. Does every one know him?" An indistinct murmur was drowned by Gaymer, who knitted his brows and repeated: "Lane? Eric Lane? The dramatist fellow? I saw something about him in one of the picture-papers to-day, when I was having my hair cut. Oh, I know! He'd left London, and letters weren't going to be forwarded.
John Gaymer, in upbringing, intellect, habits of mind and method of speech, belonged to a self-centred world which cheerfully defied subjugation by a brigade of Byrons, reinforced by a division of Wesleys and an army of Rousseaus; for him there was one school and no other, one college and no other, one regiment, club, restaurant, music-hall, tailor, hairdresser and no other.
Lane, have you?" tried to remember her ordering of the table. "Tell me who 'Babs' is," Eric begged in an undertone, as he and Gaymer prepared to follow the others down to the dining-room. "Babs Neave? Don't you know her?" Gaymer asked in surprise. "Oh, by name, of course. I didn't recognize her." "She's been rather ill, I think."
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