So off they went, to the satisfaction of Barbara and myself.  Nothing could be better for our Christmas merriment than such relations of comradeship.  We had the cheeriest of dinners that evening.  If only, said Jaffery, old Adrian and Doria were with us.  Well, they were coming the next day, together with Euphemia and the four unattached men.  As I said before, I had given up enquiring into the lodging of this host, but Barbara, doubtless, as is her magic way, had caused bedrooms and beds to smile where all had been blank before.  She herself was free from any care, being in her brightest mood; and when Barbara gave herself up to gaiety she was the most delicious thing in the wide world.

In the morning the shadow fell.  About eleven o’clock Franklin brought me a telegram into the library where Jaffery and I were sitting.  I opened it.

“Terrible calamity.  Come at once.  Boldero.”

I passed it to Jaffery.  “My God!” said he, and we stared at each other.  Franklin said: 

“Any answer, sir?”

“Yes.  ‘Boldero.  Coming at once.’  And order the car round immediately—­for London.  Also ask Mrs. Freeth kindly to come here.  Say the matter’s important.”  Franklin withdrew.  “It’s Adrian,” said I, my mind rushing back to my horrible apprehensions of the summer.

“Or Doria.  I understood—­” He waved a hand.

“Then Barbara must come.”

“She would in any case.  It may be Adrian, so I’ll come too, if you’ll let me.”

Let the great, capable fellow come?  I should think I would.  “For
Heaven’s sake, do,” said I.

Barbara entered swinging housewifely keys.

“I’m dreadfully busy, dear.  What is it?”

Then she saw our two set faces and stopped short.  Her quick eyes fell on the telegram which Jaffery had put down in the arm of a couch, and before we could do or say anything, she had snatched it up and read it.  She turned pale and held her little body very erect.

“Have you ordered the car?”

“Yes.  Jaffery’s coming with us.”

“Good, I’ll get on my coat.  Send Eileen to me.  I must tell her about house things.”

She went out.  Jaffery laid his heavy hand on my shoulder.

“What a wonder of a wife you’ve got!”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” said I.

We went downstairs to put on our coats and then round to the garage to hurry up the car.

“There’s some dreadful trouble at Mr. Boldero’s,” I said to the chauffeur.  “You must drive like the devil.”

Barbara, veiled and coated, met us at the front door.  She has a trick of doing things by lightning.  We started; Barbara and Jaffery at the back, I sideways to them on one of the little chair seats.  We had the car open, as it was a muggy day. . . .  It is astonishing how such trivial matters stick in one’s mind. . . .  We went, as I had ordained, like the devil.

“Who sent that telegram?” asked Barbara.