However, there was no doubt about it this time; trunks must be packed, bills must he paid, indignities must be swallowed.  The Aunt Dora of whom Mr. Denyer had spoken was his own sister, the wife of a hotel-keeper at Southampton.  Some seven years ago, in a crisis of the Denyers’ fate, she had hospitably housed them for several months, and was now willing to do as much again, notwithstanding the arrogance with which Mrs. Denyer had repaid her.  To the girls it had formerly mattered little where they lived; at their present age, it was far otherwise.  The hotel was of a very modest description; society would become out of the question in such a retreat.  Madeline and Zillah might choose, as the less of two evils, the lot for which they declared themselves ready; but Barbara had no notion of turning governess.  She shortly went to her bedroom, and spent a very black hour indeed.

They were to start to-morrow morning.  With rage Barbara saw the interdiction of hopes which were just becoming serious.  Another month of those after-dinner colloquies in the drawing-room, and who could say what point of intimacy Mr. Musselwhite might have reached.  He was growing noticeably more articulate; he was less absentminded.  Oh, for a month more!

This evening she took her usual place, and at length had the tormenting gratification of seeing Mr. Musselwhite approach in the usual way.  Though sitting next to him at dinner, she had said nothing of what would happen on the morrow; the present was a better opportunity.

“You have no book this evening, Miss Denyer!”

“No.”

“No headache, I hope?”

“Yes, I have a little headache.”

He looked at her with gentlemanly sympathy.

“I have had to see to a lot of things in a hurry.  Unexpectedly, we have to leave Naples to-morrow; we are going to England.”

“Indeed?  You don’t say so!  Really, I’m very sorry to hear that, Miss Denyer.”

“I am sorry too—­to have to leave Italy for such a climate at this time of the year.”  She shuddered.  “But my father has just arrived from Alexandria, and—­for family reasons—­wishes us to travel on with him.”

Mr. Musselwhite seemed to reflect anxiously.  He curled his moustaches, he plucked his whiskers, he looked about the room with wide eyes.

“How lonely it will be at the dinner-table!” he said at length.  “So many have gone of late.  But I hoped there was no danger of your going, Miss Denyer.”

“We had no idea of it ourselves till to-day.”

A long silence, during which Mr. Musselwhite’s reflections grew intense.

“You are going to London?” he asked mechanically.

“Not at first.  I hardly know.  I think we shall be for some time with friends at Southampton.”

“Indeed?  How odd!  I also have friends at Southampton.  A son of Sir Edward Mull; he married a niece of mine.”

Barbara could have cried with mortification.  She muttered she knew not what.  Then again came a blank in the dialogue.