“And Barbara?”
“Barbara might come and stay the day with you. Only——”
“Only what, sir?” cried Richard, for Mr. Carlyle had hesitated.
“I was thinking what a wretched morning it is for her to come out in.”
“She would go through an avalanche—she’d wade through mountains of snow, to see me,” cried Richard eagerly, “and be delighted to do it.”
“She always was a little fool,” put in Miss Carlyle, jerking some stitches out of her knitting.
“I know she would,” observed Mr. Carlyle, in answer to Richard. “We will try and get her here.”
“She can arrange about the money I am to have, just as well as my mother could you know, sir.”
“Yes; for Barbara is in receipt of money of her own now, and I know she would not wish better than to apply some of it to you. Cornelia, as an excuse for getting her here, I must say to Mrs. Hare that you are ill, and wish Barbara to come for the day and bear your company. Shall I?”
“Say I am dead, if you like,” responded Miss Corny, who was in one of her cross moods.