Mr. Carlyle did not understand, and said so.

“I declare I am bewildered,” she exclaimed.  “I should have premised that I have not yet told mamma it is Richard himself who is here, but that he has sent a messenger to beg for this money.  Would it be advisable to acquaint her?”

“Why should you not?  I think you ought to do so.”

“Then I will; I was fearing the hazard for she is sure to insist upon seeing him.  Richard also wishes for an interview.”

“It is only natural.  Mrs. Hare must be thankful to hear so far, that he is safe.”

“I never saw anything like it,” returned Barbara; “the change is akin to magic; she says it has put life into her anew.  And now for the last thing; how can we secure papa’s absence from home to-night?  It must be accomplished in some way.  You know his temper:  were I or mamma to suggest to him, to go and see some friend, or to go to the club, he would immediately stop at home.  Can you devise any plan?  You see I appeal to you in all my troubles,” she added, “like I and Anne used to do when we were children.”

It may be questioned if Mr. Carlyle heard the last remark.  He had dropped his eyelids in thought.  “Have you told me all?” he asked presently, lifting them.

“I think so.”

“Then I will consider it over, and—­”

“I shall not like to come here again,” interrupted Barbara.  “It—­it might excite suspicions; some one might see me, too, and mention it to papa.  Neither ought you to send to our house.”

“Well—­contrive to be in the street at four this afternoon.  Stay, that’s your dinner hour; be walking up the street at three, three precisely; I will meet you.”

He rose, shook hands, and escorted Barbara through the small hall, along the passage to the house door; a courtesy probably not yet shown to any client by Mr. Carlyle.  The house door closed upon her, and Barbara had taken one step from it, when something large loomed down upon her, like a ship in full sail.

She must have been the tallest lady in the world—­out of a caravan.  A fine woman in her day, but angular and bony now.  Still, in spite of the angles and the bones, there was majesty in the appearance of Miss Carlyle.

“Why—­what on earth!” began she, “have you been with Archibald for?”

Barbara Hare, wishing Miss Carlyle over in Asia, stammered out the excuse she had given Mr. Dill.

“Your mamma sent you on business!  I never heard of such a thing.  Twice I have been to see Archibald, and twice did Dill answer that he was engaged and must not be interrupted.  I shall make old Dill explain his meaning for observing a mystery over it to me.”

“There is no mystery,” answered Barbara, feeling quite sick lest Miss Carlyle should proclaim there was, before the clerks, or her father.  “Mamma wanted Mr. Carlyle’s opinion upon a little private business, and not feeling well enough to come herself, she sent me.”