So she did them.
“Barnaby,” said Mrs. Brayton to our hero, that evening, “George tells me you agree with him that the less we say about this English matter the better.”
“For the present, yes,” said Bar, “but such things always leak out after a while. I’d rather keep quiet as long as I can.”
“And are you not a sort of a cousin of ours now?” asked Sibyl.
“I wish you’d let it be so,” said Bar, “for I have no American cousins, that I know of.”
“Perhaps they may turn up one of these days,” said Mrs. Brayton. “Anyhow, the Vernon estate, your father’s and mother’s, has done enough for us, and I’ll be glad enough to play aunt for you. Indeed, I’ll be as much of a mother to you as I can.”
“Cousins are better than sisters,” said Sibyl. “Don’t you think so, Bar?”
“Perhaps,” replied Bar. “I never had either, and so I don’t know.”
“You shall call me either one then, just as you please,” exclaimed Sibyl; “but I can’t give you my mother.”
“She is to be my aunt, then!” said Bar. “Well, that’ll do splendidly.”