"I cannot thank you as I ought. I——"
"Thank me, child! It's not so much to thank me for. Doesn't it look well on the table, though? Mrs. Arkell must allow it to stand there for the breakfast."
"For that, and for all else," whispered Lucy, with marked emotion, retaining the hands in her warm clasp. "You must let us show our gratitude to you always, Barbara."
Barbara Fauntleroy bent her full red lips on Lucy's fair forehead. "Our bargain—his and mine—was, that we were all three to be firm and fast friends through life, you know. Lucy, there's nobody in the world wishes you happier than I do. Jolly good luck to you both!"
"Thank you, Barbara," said Travice, who was standing by.
"And now, who'll come and release Lizzie?" resumed Miss Fauntleroy. "We shall have her rampant. She's in a fly at the door, and can't get out of it."
"Not get out of it!" repeated Mr. Arkell.
"Not a bit of it. It's filled with flower-pots from our hot-house. We thought perhaps you'd not have enough for the rooms, so we've brought a load. But Lizzie got into the fly first, you see, to pack them for bringing steadily, and she can't get out till they are out. I took care of the epergne, and Lizzie of the pots."
With a general laugh, everybody rushed to get to the imprisoned Lizzie. Lucy lingered a moment, ostensibly looking at the epergne, really drying her tears away. Travice came back to her.
He took her in his arms; he kissed the tears from her cheeks; he whispered words of the sweetest tenderness, asking what her grief was.