“Time went by. I attended the funeral. Tarbot also went to it. I hoped that my fears would quickly die; but instead of their dying, Barbara, they are strengthened day by day. If nothing is done to relieve me I shall soon be one of those curses of the nineteenth century—a man of nerves.”
“I am glad you have spoken all that is in your mind,” said Barbara; “and now I tell you what we must do. All this must be cured absolutely, and the only cure is plenty of occupation. We have been long enough in Switzerland; we will return home to-morrow.”
“To London?”
“To London, if you like, for a day or two, and then on to Pelham Towers or the Priory.”
“Pelham Towers is the most important place,” said Dick, “and I am sure the people will be glad to welcome us. I have lived at the Towers, as you know, a good deal.”
Barbara rose to reenter the hotel. Just as she was about to do so a man’s figure darkened the window. He was tall, with black hair, a thin face, and a kindly, shrewd, clever mouth. He stared for a moment at Barbara, glanced beyond her at Pelham, and then with a hearty exclamation of surprise and pleasure came forward.
“Who would have thought of seeing you here, Pelham?” he said. “Pray introduce me to your wife.”
“Carroll, this is luck!” cried Pelham.
Barbara came forward at once when she heard the name. She had never met Mr. Carroll before, but he was a well-known London lawyer, and also one of little Piers Pelham’s guardians.
The two men exchanged some commonplace observations, and Barbara stood for a moment listening to them and joining in herself occasionally. Then, laying her hand on her husband’s shoulder, she said that she was tired and would go to her room, and the two men were left alone together. Leaning over the balcony, they lit their cigars and began to smoke. Carroll, who had been silent for a moment, spoke abruptly.