“Barbara, love, how are we to get home?” asked Mrs. Hare.  “I do fear I shall never walk it.  I wish I had told Benjamin to bring the phaeton.”

“I can send to him,” said Mr. Carlyle.

“But it is too bad of me, Archibald, to take you and Lady Isabel by storm in this unceremonious manner; and to give your servants trouble besides.”

“A great deal too bad, I think,” returned Mr. Carlyle, with mock gravity.  “As to the servants, the one who has to go will never get over the trouble, depend upon it.  You always were more concerned for others than for yourself, dear Mrs. Hare.”

“And you were always kind, Archibald, smoothing difficulties for all, and making a trouble of nothing.  Ah, Lady Isabel, were I a young woman, I should be envying you your good husband; there are not many like him.”

Possibly the sentence reminded Lady Isabel that another, who was young, might be envying her, for her cheeks—­Isabel’s—­flushed crimson.  Mr. Carlyle held out his strong arm of help to Mrs. Hare.

“If sufficiently rested, I fancy you would be more comfortable on a sofa indoors.  Allow me to support you thither.”

“And you can take my arm on the other side,” cried Miss Carlyle, placing her tall form by Mrs. Hare.  “Between us both we will pull you bravely along; your feet need scarcely touch the ground.”

Mrs. Hare laughed, but said she thought Mr. Carlyle’s arm would be sufficient.  She took it, and they were turning toward the house, when her eye caught the form of a gentleman passing along the road by the park gate.

“Barbara, run,” she hurriedly exclaimed.  “There’s Tom Herbert going toward our house, and he will just call in and tell them to send the phaeton, if you ask him, which will save the trouble to Mr. Carlyle’s servants of going expressly.  Make haste, child!  You will be up with him in half a minute.”

Barbara, thus urged, set off, on the spur of the moment, toward the gates, before the rest of the party well knew what was being done.  It was too late for Mr. Carlyle to stop her and repeat that the servant should go, for Barbara was already up with Mr. Tom Herbert.  The latter had seen her running toward him, and waited at the gate.

“Are you going past our house?” inquired Barbara, perceiving then that Otway Bethel also stood there, but just beyond the view of the women.

“Yes.  Why?” replied Tom Herbert, who was not famed for his politeness, being blunt by nature and “fast” by habit.

“Mamma would be so much obliged to you, if you would just call in and leave word that Benjamin is to bring up the phaeton.  Mamma walked here, intending to walk home, but she finds herself so fatigued as to be unequal to it.”

“All right.  I’ll call and send him.  What time?”

Nothing had been said to Barbara about the time, so she was at liberty to name her own.  “Ten o’clock.  We shall be home then before papa.”