“I rushed off to you, of course, for what are briefs to me when you want me? But now I shall attend to business with a will. I have about three hundred a year of my own—a mere nothing, of course—but we might be married in the autumn. We could begin in a small way, and hope for the time when I shall earn enough to give you the comforts you ought to have, my darling.”
“I don’t want comforts, or luxuries,” said Barbara. “I just want to be with you. Yes, we’ll be married in the autumn, Dick. I don’t wish to wait. I don’t care how poor you are. Oh, that is mother’s step. Now, Dick darling, be kind to her, she has gone through a great deal. Money troubles are enough to take the heart out of any one. Be very nice to her, dearest. Be as grateful as you can.”
As Barbara uttered the last words the drawing-room door was opened and Mrs. Evershed came in. She was a handsome woman, tall and stately. There were hard, worn lines round her mouth, but her relief was expressed in the eyes, which were still shining as if through recent tears, and in the mouth, which smiled, notwithstanding its tenseness. Pelham went up to her eagerly.
“Is what Barbara tells me true, Mr. Pelham?” said Mrs. Evershed.
“It is perfectly true,” replied the young man. “I love Barbara with all my heart. She has promised to marry me, but we should both like your consent.”
“That means,” said Mrs. Evershed, “that you would marry without it.”
“I should,” was the quick response; “but I doubt whether Barbara would yield to my entreaties.”
“I don’t know what I should have done if I had been tried,” said Barbara, “but luckily it is not necessary. Mother consents, don’t you, mother—you consent to make me happy in my own way?”
“Yes, my child, I cannot refuse my consent. I have been relieved of a great load of care, Mr. Pelham, and it behooves me to be good to others. I may as well say frankly that I had more ambitious views for Barbara, although, of course, I like you personally very much.”
As Mrs. Evershed said the last words she held out her hand.