CHAPTER III
Farewell
In the same sitting room and in the same chair, half an hour later, sat Barbara Meade, but in a changed mood. She was alone.
More ridiculously childish than ever she looked, with her small face white and tears forcing their way into her eyes and down her cheeks.
Yet from the music room adjoining the library came such exquisite strains of a world-old and world-lovely melody sung in a charming tenor voice, that the girl was compelled to listen.
“Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine.”
Straight through the song went on to the end. But when it was finally finished there was a moment’s silence. Then Dick Thornton appeared, standing between the portieres dividing the two rooms.
“Say, I am awfully sorry there was such a confounded row,” he began. “But there is no use taking the matter so seriously, it is poor Mill’s funeral, not yours. You seem to be the kind of independent young female who goes ahead and does whatever reckless thing she likes without asking anybody’s advice. But I do wish you would give the scheme up too. Mildred will never be allowed to go with you. I don’t approve of it any more than mother does. Just you stay on in New York and I’ll show you the time of your life.”
Dick looked so friendly and agreeable, enough to have softened almost any heart. But Barbara was still thinking of the past half hour.