Again Mrs. Tilney caught swiftly at her breath.
"Bab's?" she whispered. "My little Babbie Wynne?"
Mr. Mapleson slowly nodded.
"It's true," he said; "I phoned them, and it's as true as the Holy Writ! The lawyers are coming here at eight!"
II
Six o'clock had just struck when Bab, after a brief look at herself in the glass, opened the door of her bedroom and hurried out into the hall. Every evening it was her duty to see that the dining-room table was set properly and tonight she had been delayed. In spite of her hurry, however, her pace perceptibly slackened as she neared the head of the stairs. The room there was Mr. Varick's; and behind the door she could hear him briskly moving about, humming to himself a lively little air as he dressed:
La Donna è mobile,
Quam plume mal vento!
She smiled at his cheerfulness. How pleasant it always was to hear him!