“I am not sure of that.  I think I am for a portion of the year.  I have had an offer made me this afternoon, Barbara.”

She looked at him, wondering what he meant—­wondering whether he was serious.  An offer?  What sort of an offer?  Of what nature could it be?

He smiled at her perplexity.  “Should you like to see M. P. attached to my name?  West Lynne wants me to become its member.”

A pause to take in the news; a sudden rush of color, and then she gleefully clasped her hands round his arm, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

“Oh, Archibald, how glad I am!  I knew how you were appreciated, and you will be appreciated more and more.  This is right; it was not well for you to remain what you are for life—­a private individual, a country lawyer.”

“I am perfectly contented with my lot, Barbara,” he seriously said.  “I am too busy to be otherwise.”

“I know that; were you but a laboring man, toiling daily for the bread you eat, you would be contented, feeling that you were fulfilling your appointed duty to the utmost,” she impulsively said; “but, Archibald, can you not still be a busy man at West Lynne, although you do become its representative?”

“If I could not, I should never accept the honor, Barbara.  For some few months of the year I must of necessity be in town; but Dill is an efficient substitute, and I can run down for a week or so between times.  Part of Saturday, Sunday, and part of Monday, I can always pass here, if I please.  Of course these changes have their drawbacks, as well as their advantages.”

“Where would be the drawbacks in this?” she interrupted.

“Well,” smiled Mr. Carlyle, “in the first place, I suppose you could not always be with me.”

Her hands fell—­her color faded.  “Oh, Archibald!”

“If I do become their member, I must go up to town as soon as elected, and I don’t think it will do for my little wife to be quitting her home to travel about just now.”

Barbara’s face wore a very blank look.  She could not dissent from Mr. Carlyle’s reasoning.

“And you must remain in London to the end of the session, while I am here!  Separated!  Archibald,” she passionately added, while the tears gushed into her eyes.  “I could not live without you.”

“Then what is to be done?  Must I decline it?”

“Decline it!  Oh, of course not!  I know we are looking on the dark side of things.  I can go very well with you for a month—­perhaps two.”

“You think so?”

“I am sure so.  And, mind you must not encourage mamma to talk me out of it.  Archibald,” she continued, resting her head upon his breast, her sweet face turned up beseechingly to his, “you would rather have me with you, would you not?”

He bent his own down upon it.  “What do you think about it, my darling?”

Once more—­an opportune moment for her to enter—­Lady Isabel.  Barbara heard her this time, and sprang away from her husband.  Mr. Carlyle turned round at the movement, and saw Madame Vine.  She came forward, her lips ashy, her voice subdued.