habit."

"Oh, Mr. March!"

"My d-ear Miss Barb! I should think I ought to know!"

"Yes, sir; that's why I tell you." They laughed in partnership.

Mr. March was entirely right, Barbara resumed, not to tell his mishap to
the Fairs, or to anyone, anywhere, then or thereafter. "But you're cruel
to me not to let me lend you enough to avoid the rev-e-la-tion." That
was the utmost she would say. If he couldn't see that she would rather
_lose_--not to say lend--every dollar she had, than have anyone know
where her hand was when his pocket was picked, he might stay just as
stupid as he was. She remained silent so long that John looked at her,
but did not perceive that she was ready to cry. She wore a glad smile as
she said:

"I've got more money with me than I ought to be carrying, anyhow."

"Why, Miss Barb, you oughtn't to do that; how does that happen?" He
spoke with the air of one who had never in his life lost a cent by
carelessness.

"It's not so very much," was her reply. "It's for my share of Rosemont.
I sold it to pop-a."

"What! just now when the outlook for Rosemont--why, Miss Barb, I do
believe you did it to keep clear of our land company, didn't you?"

"Mr. March, I wish you would let me lend you some of it, won't you?"

"No, I'll be--surprised if I do. Oh, Miss Barb, I thank you just the
same; but my father, Miss Barb, gave it to me, as a canon of chivalry,
never to make a money bargain with a lady that you can't make with a
bank. If I'm not man enough to get out of this pinch without--oh,
pshaw!"

In the hotel, at the head of the ladies' staircase, they stood alone.

"Good-by," said John, unwillingly. "I'll see you this evening, shan't I,
when I come up to say good-by to your friends?"

Barbara said he would. They shook hands, each pair of eyes confessing to
the other the superfluity of the ceremony.

"Good-by," said John again, as if he had not said it twice already.

"Good-by. Mr. March, if you want to give securities--as you would to a
bank--I--I shouldn't want anything better than your mother's poems."

He glowed with gratitude and filial vanity, his big hand tightening on
hers. "Oh, Miss Barb! no, no! But God bless you! I wonder if anyone else
was ever so much like sunshine in a prison window! Good-by!" She felt
her hand lifted by his; but, when she increased its weight the merest
bit, he let it sink again and slide from his fingers.

He was gone, and a moment later she was with the Fairs