There was a distinct tremor in his voice; he pulled his moustache vigorously.  Barbara listened with painful eagerness.

“If you will forgive me for speaking of my private circumstances, Miss Denyer, I should like to tell you that for some years I have enjoyed only a very restricted income; a bachelor’s allowance—­ really it amounted to nothing more than that.  In consequence of that, my life has been rather unsettled; I scarcely knew what to do with myself, in fact; now and then time has been rather heavy on my hands.  You may have noticed that, for I know you are observant.”

He waited for her to say whether she had or had not observed this peculiarity in him.

“I have sometimes been afraid that was the case,” said Barbara.

“I quite thought so.”  He smiled with gratification.  “But now—­if I may speak a little longer of these personal matters—­all that is altered, and by the very great kindness, the generosity, of my nephew Sir Roland.  Sir Roland has seen fit to put me in possession of an income just three times what I have hitherto commanded.  This does not, Miss Denyer, make me a wealthy man; far from it.  But it puts certain things within my reach that I could not think of formerly.  For instance, I shall be able to take a modest house, either in the country, or here in one of the suburbs.  It’s my wish to do so.  My one great wish is to settle down and have something to—­to occupy my time.”

Barbara breathed a faint approval.

“You may wonder, Miss Denyer, why I trouble you with these details.  Perhaps I might be pardoned for doing so, if I spoke with—­with a desire for your friendly sympathy.  But there is more than that in my mind.  The day is come, Miss Denyer, when I am able to say what I would gladly have said before our parting at Naples, if it had been justifiable in me.  That is rather a long time ago, but the feeling I then had has only increased in the meanwhile.  Miss Denyer, I desire humbly to ask if you will share with me my new prosperity, such as it is?”

The interview lasted an hour and a quarter.  Mrs. Denyer panted with impatience in the back parlour.  Such an extended visit could not but have unusual significance.  On hearing the door of the other room open, she stood up and listened.  But there was no word in the passage, no audible murmur.

The front door closed, and in two ticks of the clock Barbara came headlong into the parlour.  With broken breath, with hysterical laughing and sobbing, she made known what had happened.  It was too much for her; the relief of suspense, the absolute triumph, were more than she could support with decency.  Mrs. Denyer shed tears, and embraced her daughter as if they had always been on the fondest terms.

“Go up and tell Maddy!”

But, as not seldom befalls, happiness inspired Barbara with a delicacy of feeling to which as a rule she was a stranger.

“I don’t like to, mamma.  It seems cruel.”