“Barbara, my dear, you are trembling. You must not give way,” said her mother. “Indeed, I am convinced there is no cause for alarm. You have had little to do with men hitherto, my poor child, and do not know what queer creatures they are, with their ups and downs and their mysteries, and their sudden departures from home. Oh, I had plenty of that sort of thing to go through when your poor father was alive, and I know all about it.”
“I don’t understand you, mother,” said Barbara impatiently. She could not bear a word to be even hinted against Dick. She slipped her hand into her pocket and softly touched his note.
“You will come back to-morrow, Barbara?”
“Probably,” replied Barbara.
“You will spend to-night at my house?”
“If necessary, I will do so, mother.”
Barbara could scarcely eat. She broke a piece of toast up mechanically and put dry morsels into her mouth.
“I am certain there is nothing the matter,” said Mrs. Evershed cheerfully. “To-morrow will be Christmas Eve. Would you like me to carry on the arrangements you have already made?”
“Please, mother, yes, certainly. I will desire the servants to come to you for orders, and Mrs. Posset will, of course, manage the housekeeping. There won’t be much for you to do, but order the carriage whenever you want it. Make yourself as happy as you can. I am sorry to have to leave you, dear mother.”
“I wonder what is wrong,” thought Mrs. Evershed when Barbara left the room.