There was quite a long silence. The fire burned brightly. Dr. Ferris, greatly agitated by tragic memories, closed his eyes very tightly, as if to shut them out.
"And of course," said Barbara at last, "the small boy is my Mr. Blizzard. Well, what can we do for him?"
"You owe him nothing," said her father sharply.
"Oh, yes," said Barbara gently, "oh, yes. Your obligations are mine. I shall tell him. It's like owing a frightful sum of money. We can't be happy till we've paid up, can we? You and I?"
"It seems," said Dr. Ferris, "that I have made two terrible mistakes. And the second is having told you about the first. My God, but this life is hard to bear!"
"But--why--what have I said? If there is anything we can do for him, we ought to do it."
"Are you going to say that to him?"
"Of course," she said.
"Suppose," said her father, "that in all this world he wanted only one thing--you?"
This suggestion was most unexpected to Barbara and odious. And she said coldly: "I hope he is not quite such a fool."