“I have seen him with one person, but I can’t inquire of him.  They are too thick together, he and Thorn, and are birds of a feather also, I suspect.  Great swells both.”

“Oh, Richard don’t use those expressions.  They are unsuited to a gentleman.”

Richard laughed bitterly.  “A gentleman?”

“Who is it you have seen Thorn with?” inquired Barbara.

“Sir Francis Levison,” replied Richard, glancing at Miss Carlyle, who drew in her lips ominously.

“With whom?” uttered Barbara, betraying complete astonishment.  “Do you know Sir Francis Levison?”

“Oh, yes, I know him.  Nearly the only man about town that I do know.”

Barbara seemed lost in a puzzled reverie, and it was some time before she aroused herself from it.

“Are they at all alike?” she asked.

“Very much so, I suspect.  Both bad men.”

“But I meant in person.”

“Not in the least.  Except that they are both tall.”

Again Barbara sank into thought.  Richard’s words had surprised her.  She was aroused by it from hearing a child’s voice in the next room.  She ran into it, and Miss Carlyle immediately fastened the intervening door.

It was little Archibald Carlyle.  Joyce had come in with the tray to lay the luncheon, and before she could lock the door, Archibald ran in after her.  Barbara lifted him in her arms to carry him back to the nursery.

“Oh, you heavy boy!” she exclaimed.

Archie laughed.  “Wilson says that,” he lisped, “if ever she has to carry me.”

“I have brought you a truant, Wilson,” cried Barbara.

“Oh, is it you, Miss Barbara?  How are you, miss?  Naughty boy!—­yes, he ran away without my noticing him—­he is got now so that he can open the door.”

“You must be so kind as to keep him strictly in for to-day,” concluded Miss Barbara, authoritatively.  “Miss Carlyle is not well, and cannot be subjected to the annoyance of his running into the room.”

Evening came, and the time of Richard’s departure.  It was again snowing heavily, though it had ceased in the middle of the day.  Money for the present had been given to him; arrangements had been discussed.  Mr. Carlyle insisted upon Richard’s sending him his address, as soon as he should own one to send, and Richard faithfully promised.  He was in very low spirits, almost as low as Barbara, who could not conceal her tears; they dropped in silence on her pretty silk dress.  He was smuggled down the stairs, a large cloak of Miss Carlyle’s enveloping him, into the room he had entered by storm the previous night.  Mr. Carlyle held the window open.

“Good-bye, Barbara dear.  If ever you should be able to tell my mother of this day, say that my chief sorrow was not to see her.”

“Oh, Richard!” she sobbed forth, broken-hearted, “good-bye.  May God be with you and bless you!”

“Farewell, Richard,” said Miss Carlyle; “don’t you be fool enough to get into any more scrapes.”