"He never saw her in his life so far as I know," he answered sulkily. "What has that to do with it?"
For an instant she looked at him without a word, her fingers working. Then she began to laugh, in a low tone, wildly, chokingly. "Of course! Of course! What has that to do with it? What you want is more money, isn't it! That is all you came to tell me!"
He, too, was on his feet now, uncertain and mistrustful. Was she making game of him? He saw Barbara's gaze go past him—to fasten on something in the background. He turned. In the doorway with its maple-leaf portière stood Austen Ware.
Barbara's laugh had fallen in a shuddering breath that was like a sob. "Here is your brother now," she said. "Austen, Phil and I have been getting acquainted. And what do you think? He has found my lost locket." She held it up toward him.
He had come toward them. In the dim light his face looked very white, and his eyes glittered like quicksilver. He held out his hand.
"Why, Phil!" he exclaimed. "This is a great surprise. When did you arrive, and are you at this hotel?"
Phil had stood shamefaced. At the tone, however, which seemed an earnest of renewed favor, he flushed with relief. "I've just come," he answered—"in a friend's motor, and I must go back at once. But I'll come up again by train to-morrow, if you'd like me to."
"Very well," was Ware's reply. "We'll wait till then for our talk. I'll come and see you off." Neither of the others caught the tense repression in the tone or realized that his smile was forced and unnatural, as he added: "We must put a ban on late hours, Barbara, if you are to climb Nantai-Zan to-morrow."
She went to the door, her thoughts in a tumult, a wild exhilaration possessing her. She wanted to laugh and to cry. The black, cold mist that had enveloped her had broken, and the warm sunlight was looking again into her heart.
"Good night, Phil," she said. "Thank you so much for—for bringing me the locket. You can't guess how much it meant to me!"