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So things went on until the previous day, the Monday after their arrival in London, when, most unhappily, Lady Thompson went out to lunch and met the Hon. Charles Russell, who was on leave in England.

Next morning, while Barbara was engaged in arranging some flowers in the drawing-room, who should be shown in but Mr. Russell. In her alarm she dropped a bowl and broke it, a sign that he evidently considered hopeful, setting it down to the emotion which his sudden presence caused. To emotion it was due, indeed, but not of a kind he would have wished. Recovering herself, Barbara shook his hand and then told the servant who was picking up the pieces of the bowl to inform her ladyship of the arrival of this morning caller.

The man bowed and departed, and as he went Barbara noticed an ominous twinkle in the pleasant blue eyes of the Hon. Charles Russell.

The rest of the interview may be summed up in a few words. Mr. Russell was eloquent, passionate and convincing. He assured Barbara that she was the only woman he had ever loved with such force and conviction that in the end she almost believed him. But this belief, if it existed, did not in the least shake her absolutely definite determination to have nothing whatsoever to do with her would-be lover.

Not until she had told him so six times, however, did he consent to believe her, for indeed he had been led to expect a very different answer.

“I suppose you care for someone else,” he said at last.

“Yes,” said Barbara, whose back, metaphorically, was against the wall.

“Somebody much more–suitable.”

“No,” said Barbara, “he is poor and not distinguished and has all his way to make in the world.”

“He might change his mind, or–die.”

“If so, I should not change mine,” said Barbara. “Very likely I shall not marry him, but I shall not marry anyone else.”

“In heaven’s name, why not?”

“Because it would be a sacrilege against heaven.”

Then at last Mr. Russell understood.

“Allow me to offer you my good wishes and to assure you of my earnest and unalterable respect,” he said in a somewhat broken voice, and taking her hand he touched it lightly with his lips, turned, and departed out of Barbara’s sight and life.

Ten minutes later Lady Thompson arrived, and her coming was like to that of a thunderstorm. She shut the door, locked it, and sat down in an armchair in solemn, lurid silence. Then with one swift flash the storm broke.

“What is this I hear from Mr. Russell?”

“I am sure I don’t know what you have heard from Mr. Russell,” answered Barbara faintly.

“Perhaps, but you know very well what there was to hear, you wicked, ungrateful girl.”

“Wicked!” murmured Barbara, “ungrateful!”

“Yes, it is wicked to lead a man on and then reject him as though he were–rubbish. And it is ungrateful to throw away the chances that a kind aunt and Providence put in your way. What have you against him?”

“Nothing at all, I think him very nice.”

Lady Thompson’s brow lightened; if she thought him “very nice” all might yet be well. Perhaps this refusal was nothing but nonsensical modesty. Mr. Russell, being a gentleman, had not told her everything.

“Then I say you shall marry him.”

“And I say, Aunt, that I will not and cannot.”

“Why? Have you been secretly converted to the Church of Rome, and are you going into a nunnery? Or is there–another man?”

“Yes, Aunt.”

“Where is he?” said Lady Thompson, looking about her as though she expected to find him hidden under the furniture. “And how did you manage to become entangled with him, you sly girl, under my very nose? And who is he? One of those bowing and scraping Italians, I suppose, who think you’ll get my money. Tell me the truth at once.”

“He is somebody you have never seen, Aunt. One of the Arnotts down at home.”

“Oh, that Captain! Well, I believe they have a decent property, about 2,000 pounds a year, but all in land, which Sir Samuel never held by. Of course, it is nothing like the Russell match, which would have made a peeress of you some day and given you a great position meanwhile. But I suppose we must be thankful for small mercies.”