ting a change
in tone, he added, "Won't you rejoin us?"

"I am very well here," she said.

He waited a moment, then bowed, and left us. He was frowning heavily,
and, as I judged, would have greeted another quarrel with me very
gladly, had I been minded to give him an opportunity; but thinking it
fair that I should be cured from the first encounter before I faced a
second, I held my peace till he was gone; then I said to Barbara,

"I wonder he didn't tell you."

Alas for my presumption! The anger that had been diverted on to
Carford's head swept back to mine.

"Indeed, why should he?" she cried. "All the world can't be always
thinking of you and your affairs, Mr Dale."

"Yet you were vexed because he hadn't."

"I vexed! Not I!" said Barbara haughtily.

I could not make that out; she had seemed angry with him. But because I
spoke of her anger, she was angry now with me. Indeed I began to think
that little Charles, the King, and I had been right in that opinion in
which the King found us so much of a mind. Suddenly Barbara spoke.

"Tell me what she is like, this friend of yours," she said. "I have
never seen her."

It leapt to my lips to cry, "Ay, you have seen her!" but I did not give
utterance to the words. Barbara had seen her in the park at Hatchstead,
seen her more than once, and more than once found sore offence in what
she saw. There is wisdom in silence; I was learning that safety might
lie in deceit. The anger under which I had suffered would be doubled if
she knew that Cydaria was Nell and Nell Cydaria. Why should she know?
Why should my own mouth betray me and add my bygone sins to the offences
of to-day? My lord had not told her that Nell was Cydaria. Should I
speak where my lord was silent? Neither would I tell her of Cydaria.

"You haven't seen her?" I asked.

"No; and I would learn what she is like."

It was a strange thing to command me, yet Barbara's desire joined with
my own thoughts to urge me to it. I began tamely enough, with a stiff
list of features and catalogue of colours. But as I talked recollection
warmed my voice; and when Barbara's lips curled scornfully, as though
she would say, "What is there in this to make men fools? There is
nothing in all this," I grew more vehement and painted the picture with
all my skill. What malice began, my ardour perfected, until, engrossed
in my fancy, I came near to forgetting that I had a listener, and ended
with a start as I found Barbara's eyes