red to me to ask Dysart to see you across."

"He is so kind, such a friend," says Mrs. Monkton. "But----"

She might have said more, but at this instant Joyce appears in the
doorway.

"We shall be late," cries she, "and Freddy not even dressed, why----Oh,
has anything really happened?"

"Yes, yes," says Barbara hurriedly--a few words explains all. "We must
go home to-morrow, you see; and Freddy thinks that Felix would look
after us until we reached Kensington or North Wall."

"Felix--Mr. Dysart?" The girl's face had grown pale during the recital
of the suicide, but now it looks ghastly. "Why should he come?" cries
she in a ringing tone, that has actual fear in it. "Do you suppose that
we two cannot manage the children between us? Oh, nonsense, Barbara; why
Tommy is as sensible as he can be, and if nurse does prove incapable,
and a prey to seasickness, well--I can take baby, and you can look after
Mabel. It will be all right! We are not going to America, really.
Freddy, please say you will not trouble Mr. Dysart about this matter."

"Yes, I really think we shall not require him," says Barbara. Something
in the glittering brightness of her sister's eye warns her to give in at
once, and indeed she has been unconsciously a little half-hearted about
having Felix or any stranger as a travelling companion. "There, run
away, Joyce, and go to your bed, darling; you look very tired. I must
still arrange some few things with Freddy."

"What is the matter with her?" asks Monkton, when Joyce has gone away.
"She looks as if she had been crying, and her manner is so excitable."

"She has been strange all day, almost repellant. Felix called--and--I
don't know what happened; she insisted upon my leaving her alone with
him; but I am afraid there was a scene of some sort. I know she had been
crying, because her eyes were so red, but she would say nothing, and I
was afraid to ask her."

"Better not. I hope she is not still thinking of that fellow Beauclerk.
However----" he stops short and sighs heavily.

"You must not think of her now," says Barbara quickly; "your own trouble
is enough for you. Were your brother's affairs so very bad that they
necessitate the giving up of everything?"

"It has been going on for years. My father has had to economize, to cut
down everything. You know the old place was let to a Mr.--Mr.--I quite
forget the name now," pressing his hand to his brow; "a Manchester man,
at all events, but we always ho