girl's cheeks.

When she had gone, Lady Valleys rang for her maid again, and relapsed
into meditation. Her first thought was to consult her husband; her
second that secrecy was strength. Since no one knew but Barbara, no one
had better know.

Her astuteness and experience comprehended the far-reaching probabilities
of this affair. It would not do to take a single false step. If she had
no one's action to control but her own and Barbara's, so much the less
chance of a slip. Her mind was a strange medley of thoughts and
feelings, almost comic, well-nigh tragic; of worldly prudence, and
motherly instinct; of warm-blooded sympathy with all love-affairs, and
cool-blooded concern for her son's career. It was not yet too late
perhaps to prevent real mischief; especially since it was agreed by
everyone that the woman was no adventuress. Whatever was done, they must
not forget that she had nursed him--saved him, Barbara had said! She
must be treated with all kindness and consideration.

Hastening her toilette, she in turn went to her daughter's room.

Barbara was already dressed, leaning out of her window towards the sea.

Lady Valleys began almost timidly:

"My dear, is Eustace out of bed yet?"

"He was to get up to-day for an hour or two."

"I see. Now, would there be any danger if you and I went up and took
charge over from Mrs. Noel?"

"Poor Eusty!"

"Yes, yes! But, exercise your judgment. Would it harm him?"

Barbara was silent. "No," she said at last, "I don't suppose it would,
now; but it's for the doctor to say."

Lady Valleys exhibited a manifest relief.

"We'll see him first, of course. Eustace will have to have an ordinary
nurse, I suppose, for a bit."

Looking stealthily at Barbara, she added:

"I mean to be very nice to her; but one mustn't be romantic, you know,
Babs."

From the little smile on Barbara's lips she derived no sense of
certainty; indeed she was visited by all her late disquietude about her
young daughter, by all the feeling that she, as well as Miltoun, was
hovering on the verge of some folly.

"Well, my dear," she said, "I am going down."

But Barbara lingered a little longer in that bedroom where ten nights ago
she had lain tossing, till in despair she went and cooled herself in the
dark sea.

Her last little interview with Courtier stood between her and a fresh
meeting with Harbinger, whom at the Valleys House gathering she had not
suffered to be alone with her.