"Was it something very unkind?" asked Barbara.
She had walked away with Mrs. Dearmer and one or two others, amongst them a man named Heriot, to whom Barbara had hardly spoken, but whom she cordially disliked.
"They said you had a lover," said Mrs. Dearmer.
"It would have been kinder if they had given me a hundred, wouldn't it? That would, indeed, have been to praise me mightily and declare me irresistible."
"You will not find women so generous as that," laughed Heriot. "I thought there was a more subtle meaning in the declaration. In a hundred lovers there might be safety, but in one—ah! it is the persistency of one which reduces the citadel."
"I know many who might persist until they were leaning over their grave, and then not succeed," said Barbara, "and the citadel would not need to be very strongly guarded either."
"That should hasten your retreat, Mr. Heriot," said Mrs. Dearmer, and then she drew Barbara a little farther away. "Tell me, are they right? Is there a lover?"
"You may deny it if you are questioned," Barbara answered.
"I will. I would not betray such a secret for the world. Does he climb to your window when the terrace is empty and silent, or is there some secret door by which he comes and no one ever the wiser?"
"Is that what they say?" asked Barbara.