“If I could not, I should never accept the honor, Barbara. For some few months of the year I must of necessity be in town; but Dill is an efficient substitute, and I can run down for a week or so between times. Part of Saturday, Sunday, and part of Monday, I can always pass here, if I please. Of course these changes have their drawbacks, as well as their advantages.”
“Where would be the drawbacks in this?” she interrupted.
“Well,” smiled Mr. Carlyle, “in the first place, I suppose you could not always be with me.”
Her hands fell—her color faded. “Oh, Archibald!”
“If I do become their member, I must go up to town as soon as elected, and I don’t think it will do for my little wife to be quitting her home to travel about just now.”
Barbara’s face wore a very blank look. She could not dissent from Mr. Carlyle’s reasoning.
“And you must remain in London to the end of the session, while I am here! Separated! Archibald,” she passionately added, while the tears gushed into her eyes. “I could not live without you.”
“Then what is to be done? Must I decline it?”
“Decline it! Oh, of course not! I know we are looking on the dark side of things. I can go very well with you for a month—perhaps two.”
“You think so?”