Wallace's hand was on the knob when a child's voice piped up from beyond the door—a voice ready to tremble into tears, and full of pleading. "But I want to kiss her," it cried.
Clare fairly threw herself forward to keep the two men from leaving.
"Wait! Wait!" she implored in a whisper.
"She's busy, I tell you!"—it was Mrs. Colter. "Now come along."
Something brushed the outer panels; then, "Good-by, Aunt Clare!" piped the little voice again.
"Come! Come!" scolded Mrs. Colter.
Now a sound of weeping, and whispers—Mrs. Colter entreating obedience, and making promises; next, a choking final farewell—"Good-by, Aunt Clare!"
"Good-by," answered Clare, hollowly.
As the weeping grew louder, and the outer door shut, Wallace went toward the bay-window, slowly, as if drawn by a force he could not master. He put a shaking hand to a curtain and moved it aside a space. Then leaning, he stared out at the sobbing child descending the steps.
When he turned his face was a dead white. His look questioned Clare in agony. "Who—— That—that—your niece?" he stammered.
"She's my sister's little girl," answered Clare, almost glibly. She was recovering her composure, now that Barbara was out of the house.