But Barbara had seen the look in her face, and gave no heed to her brave words.
"I can't go, honey, and leave you here alone!" she cried, impetuously, jumping up and hugging the little lady with a vehemence born of the effort to convince herself that what she said was true. She felt that she could and must go; but that the joy of going would be more than damped—drenched, indeed, with tears—at the thought of how much Mistress Mehitable would miss her, of how empty Westings House would be without her, of the scar her absence would leave in their little world. With her intense individuality, her lively self-concentration, it almost seemed to her as if their little world could not even attempt to go on without her, but must sleep dully through her absence.
"Of course you will go, Barbara dear!" said Mistress Mehitable, decidedly. "It is only natural and right you should want to go, and go. I cannot pretend that it makes me very happy to think of doing without you for a whole year. No words can tell you how I shall miss you, dear child. But I should be a thousand times more unhappy if I were to feel myself standing in the way of your happiness. No, no, indeed, don't talk any nonsense about not going. Besides, your Uncle Bob has the right to have you with him for a while."
"Oh, I wish you could go, too!" sighed Barbara. "Can't you? Then it would be lovely!"
Mistress Mehitable laughed softly. "Not very well just now, child!" she answered, assuming a gaiety. "Perhaps some other time it might be managed. Now, we'll have to plan about getting you ready,—and your uncle has only left us a wretched little week to do it in!"
So it was settled, without any stress or argument whatever, that Barbara should go to New York with Uncle Bob just eight days from that day; and so was decreed, with such effort as it might take to order a breakfast, nothing less than a revolution in Barbara's life.
While the two women were discussing weighty problems of dressmaking, lingerie, and equipment various,—what should be made at Second Westings, and what should be left to New York shops and the tried taste of Uncle Bob,—Doctor Jim came in, less robustious and breezy than his wont, his eyes big with momentous tidings. He kissed the ladies' hands, and sat down thoughtfully opposite, scanning their faces from under bushy, drawn brows. They both looked at him with expectant inquiry.
"You were most intent on whatever you were talking about!" said he, presently. "I hope I don't interrupt! May I hear all about it? Or should I run away, eh, what?"
"You never interrupt,—or if you do, you are forgiven beforehand, Jim!" said Mistress Mehitable.
"What we were talking about will interest you, Doctor Jim, you naughty old thing!" cried Barbara, saucily. "It was petticoats, bodices, and silk stockings, and such like feminine frivolities! But what have you got to tell us? You are just bursting, you know you are. Tell us, and we'll tell you something!"