to pay some sort of attention. "I don't like the
green; I will take the other."

They arrived at home. Barbara got just five minutes alone in her chamber
before the dinner was on the table. All the conclusion she could come to
was, _she_ could do nothing save tell the facts to Archibald Carlyle.

How could she contrive to see him? The business might admit of no delay.
She supposed she must go to East Lynne that evening; but where would be
her excuse for it at home? Puzzling over it, she went down to dinner.
During the meal, Mrs. Hare began talking of some silk she had purchased
for a mantle. She should have it made like Miss Carlyle's new one. When
Miss Carlyle was at the grove, the other day, about Wilson's character,
she offered her the pattern, and she, Mrs. Hare, would send one of the
servants up for it after dinner.

"Oh, mamma, let me go!" burst forth Barbara, and so vehemently spoke
she, that the justice paused in carving, and demanded what ailed her.
Barbara made some timid excuse.

"Her eagerness is natural, Richard," smiled Mrs. Hare. "Barbara thinks
she shall get a peep at the baby, I expect. All young folks are fond of
babies."

Barbara's face flushed crimson, but she did not contradict the opinion.
She could not eat her dinner--she was too full of poor Richard; she
played with it, and then sent away her plate nearly untouched.

"That's through the finery she's been buying," pronounced Justice Hare.
"Her head is stuffed up with it."

No opposition was offered to Barbara's going to East Lynne. She reached
it just as their dinner was over. It was for Miss Carlyle she asked.

"Miss Carlyle is not at home, miss. She is spending the day out; and my
lady does not receive visitors yet."

It was a sort of checkmate. Barbara was compelled to say she would see
Mr. Carlyle. Peter ushered her into the drawing-room, and Mr. Carlyle
came to her.

"I am so very sorry to disturb you--to have asked for you," began
Barbara, with a burning face, for, somehow, a certain evening interview
of hers with him, twelve months before, was disagreeably present to her.
Never, since that evening of agitation, had Barbara suffered herself
to betray emotion to Mr. Carlyle; her manner to him had been calm,
courteous, and indifferent. And she now more frequently called him "Mr.
Carlyle" than "Archibald."

"Take a seat--take a seat, Barbara."

"I asked for Miss Carlyle," she continued, "for mamma is in want of a
pattern that she