"No; but I have been to the house twice. Perhaps it is best. I hope to be in a better mood when I come down next week."
"When you do see him, please try to forget me, just think of him, and speak to him as your father."
"If you wish—"
"No, Will, because it is right—for your own sake," she pleaded, and he promised.
Between supper and train-time there was an opportunity for Barbara and Will to make again the vows of lovers. They forgot the time, the train—everything except each other; but, fortunately, Mrs. Stout did not, and when the time came, warned them that further delay was out of the question by coughing just outside the door, with an effort that was ridiculous, and asking them if they knew what time it was. Barbara, who was to accompany Will to the railroad station, ran to put on her things, and Will called to Mrs. Stout to come in, which she did.
"I can't thank you enough for your kindness," said Will, grasping her hand. "If it hadn't been for you, I don't know what Barbara would have done."
"Oh, nonsense, I guess somebody'd come along if I hadn't," replied Mrs. Stout.
"But she had been to several somebodies."
"Well, I don't see how I could have done any different," said Mrs. Stout, modestly.
"Bless you for it, Mrs. Stout, I can never forget."