It must be remembered that Barbara was under no pledge of secrecy to Alice or any one; she was free to do what might seem for the best—that is, for the good of Richard. It was the part of every neighbour to take care of a blind man, particularly when there was special ground for caution unknown to him.
“I am sorry to find you so poorly, dear lady Ann,” she said, with her quick sympathy for suffering.
Vixen had told her that the horrid man had made her mamma quite ill; and Barbara found her with her boudoir darkened, and a cup of green tea on a Japanese table by the side of the couch on which she lay.
“It is only one of my headaches, child!” returned lady Ann. “Do not let it disturb you.”
“I am afraid, from what Victoria tells me, that something must have occurred to annoy you seriously!”
“Nothing at all worth mentioning. He is an odd person, that workman of yours!”
“He is peculiar,” granted Barbara, doubtful of her own honesty because of the different sense in which she used the word from that in which it would be taken; “but I am certain he would not willingly vex any one.”
“Children will be troublesome!” drawled her ladyship.
“Particularly Victoria,” returned Barbara. “Mr. Tuke cannot bear to have his work put in jeopardy!”
“Very excusable in him.”