“I hope he’ll soon be able to come over.”
“So do I,” Barnes answered honestly.
“He and Eleanor have always got on so well together. In all the time they have known one another they have never quarreled.”
“That is very well behaved of them.”
“So you see—” she concluded significantly.
“Yes,” he assured her hastily, “I see.”
During those three days, then, Barnes played his part like a good actor—fulfilled his duty like a good soldier, but he lived in dreary isolation. Aunt Philomela saw no change in him. If she had, it would have been some satisfaction to her. As it was they dined in solemn tête-à-tête and disagreed upon every topic proposed for conversation—except Carl. If anything, Barnes’ meek acquiescence on this subject irritated her more than an aggressive attitude on his part would have done. It was altogether too noticeable not to excite her suspicion. But for once she kept her counsel and waited.
It was on the fourth morning that, as she was rising from the breakfast table, she announced,
“My niece wished me to tell you that she will see you for a few minutes this morning if you care to come up.”
Barnes caught his breath.