"Bring Miss Barbara, nurse," he said hastily, and ushered his visitor into the drawing-room.
"What a remarkable apartment!" Mrs. Lytchett said in her deep voice, looking round. "What alterations you have made!"
"I hope you like it," he said courteously.
"I daresay I shall, when I get used to it. I'm not one that approves of changes," she responded. Then turning from frivolities, she sat down and began seriously upon her business.
"Your little girl came to see me this morning. I am afraid that nurse of yours is very unfit for her position, and is doing her great harm. She is spoilt and very wilful."
"My little Barbara!" murmured Mr. Pelham, a pang filling his heart at such words in connection with his baby, followed immediately by a feeling that he should like to do some harm to his visitor. Just then the door was opened widely, and the baby stood within the doorway.
To eyes not jaundiced, she was a perfect picture in a fitting frame. The sun shone in, through old stained glass, on the brown panelling of the hall behind her. A ray, through a side window of the drawing-room, fell upon her, lighting up her vivacious, dark beauty. Nurse, on seeing the visitor, had hastily given vent to her temper, and arrayed her in the latest Regent Street confection—a dainty short-waisted, long-skirted white satin frock trimmed with costly lace, under which the bare pink toes just peeped, for Barbara had scouted the accompanying shoes.
With her face dimpling into smiles at sight of her father, she caught up her skirt with one hand and hurried towards him.
"Noo f'ock," she called out.
Then she recognised the visitor, and paused, remembering the morning's conflict, putting her finger into her mouth and considering. A little to her father's dismay she tilted her nose, and said interrogatively, "Bip? Bip?" much as if she were questioning a terrier. Then she slowly sidled to his knee, eyeing Mrs. Lytchett the while in evident doubt of her intentions.