"Miss Barb"—It was the first time he had ever said that, and though she lifted her glance in sober inquiry, the music of it ran through all her veins.
"—Miss Barb, isn't it astonishing, the speed with which acquaintance can grow, under favorable conditions?"
"Is it?"
"Oh, well, no, it isn't. Only that's not its usual way."
"Isn't the usual way the best?"
"Oh—usually—yes! But there's nothing usual about this meeting of ours. Miss Barb, my finding you and your friendship is as if I'd been lost at midnight in a trackless forest and had all at once found a road. I only wish"—he gnawed his lip—"I only wish these three last days had come to me years ago. You might have saved me some big mistakes."
"No," Barbara softly replied, "I'm afraid not."
"I only mean as a sister might influence an older brother; cheering—helping—warning."
"Warning!" murmured Barbara, with drooping head and slower step. "You don't know what an evil gift of untimely silence I've got. If I've failed all my life long as a daughter, in just what you're supposing of me——"
"O come, now, Miss——"