She made no answer.  Captain Thorn and Mr. Bethel came walking down the street, and the latter saluted her, but she was too much confused to respond to it.  Mr. Wainwright then wished her good day, and Barbara walked slowly back.  Mrs. Hare was appearing at the shop door.

“My dear, how long you are!  Cannot the bag be found?”

“I went to speak to Mr. Wainwright,” answered Barbara, mechanically taking the bag from Benjamin and giving it to her mother, her whole heart and eyes still absorbed with that one object moving away in the distance.

“You look pale, child.  Are you well?”

“Oh, yes, quite.  Let us get our shopping over, mamma.”

She moved on to their places at the counter as she spoke, eager to “get it over” and be at home, that she might have time for thought.  Mrs. Hare wondered what had come to her; the pleased interest displayed in their purchases previously was now gone, and she sat inattentive and absorbed.

“Now, my dear, it is only waiting for you to choose.  Which of the two silks will you have?”

“Either—­any.  Take which you like, mamma.”

“Barbara, what has come to you?”

“I believe I am tired,” said Barbara, with a forced laugh, as she compelled herself to pay some sort of attention.  “I don’t like the green; I will take the other.”

They arrived at home.  Barbara got just five minutes alone in her chamber before the dinner was on the table.  All the conclusion she could come to was, she could do nothing save tell the facts to Archibald Carlyle.

How could she contrive to see him?  The business might admit of no delay.  She supposed she must go to East Lynne that evening; but where would be her excuse for it at home?  Puzzling over it, she went down to dinner.  During the meal, Mrs. Hare began talking of some silk she had purchased for a mantle.  She should have it made like Miss Carlyle’s new one.  When Miss Carlyle was at the grove, the other day, about Wilson’s character, she offered her the pattern, and she, Mrs. Hare, would send one of the servants up for it after dinner.

“Oh, mamma, let me go!” burst forth Barbara, and so vehemently spoke she, that the justice paused in carving, and demanded what ailed her.  Barbara made some timid excuse.

“Her eagerness is natural, Richard,” smiled Mrs. Hare.  “Barbara thinks she shall get a peep at the baby, I expect.  All young folks are fond of babies.”

Barbara’s face flushed crimson, but she did not contradict the opinion.  She could not eat her dinner—­she was too full of poor Richard; she played with it, and then sent away her plate nearly untouched.

“That’s through the finery she’s been buying,” pronounced Justice Hare.  “Her head is stuffed up with it.”

No opposition was offered to Barbara’s going to East Lynne.  She reached it just as their dinner was over.  It was for Miss Carlyle she asked.