Meanwhile Barbara and Lucia were in the drawing room, holding another conversation quite as particular in its results as that.
"They cannot come for an hour at the earliest," said Lucia, looking round the room for something to do.
"Can't you finish that painting? I'll get your apron," coaxed Barbara. "There is time; you said an hour would do it—"
"So I did. Then I will, Barbara, now all is done."
The little girl stood by her in unusual silence, watching her busy brush, but not chatting as she often did.
An hour! The time was slipping away, and before it was over, she must get something said.
At last she flung her arm round her sister's shoulder, and with the other hand poured some bright coins into her lap.
"Whatever is that?" asked Lucia. For somehow the pressure round her neck told that Barbara felt what she was doing very much.
"You know about that money father and mother sent?"
"Yes—"