ent," Duncan asked, when she thus stopped in
the middle of her sentence, "will you think me impertinent if I ask you
what comes after that word 'but?'"

"Oh, I think you mustn't ask me that. At least, I think I mustn't answer
you."

"Very well," replied the young man, pleased with the girl's manner, in
spite of his disappointment over her hesitation. "May I make a
suggestion? If you had simply said 'no' to my invitation, of course I
should not think of urging it upon you. But what you have said shows me
that you would welcome it, if there were not something in the way.
Perhaps you can overcome the difficulty. Will you not try? Will you not
take a little time to think, and perhaps to consult with your friends?"

"I should like to, but that would be unfair to you. It might deprive you
of an opportunity to ask someone else."

"I shall ask no one else. I shall not attend the affair at all, unless I
am privileged to escort you. If I may, I will call to-morrow evening,
and every evening, until you can give me your decision."

There was a certain masterfulness in his manner and utterance, which
seemed to leave no chance for further discussion. So Barbara simply
said:

"Very well. I'll be ready to answer you to-morrow evening. I suppose I
am ready now, but you wish me to wait, and it shall be so."

Duncan hurriedly took his leave. Perhaps he feared that if he stayed
longer, the girl might make her "no" a final one. Otherwise he hoped for
a better outcome.

When he had gone, poor little Bab sat for a time in bewilderment. She
still could not understand why such a man as Guilford Duncan--whom
everybody regarded as the "coming man" in Cairo--should have chosen her,
instead of some other, as the recipient of his invitation. She could not
still a certain fluttering about her heart. She was full of joy, and
yet she was sorely grieved that she must put aside what seemed to her a
supreme opportunity to be happy for a time.

It was always her way, when any emotion pleased or troubled her, to go
to her friend, Mrs. Richards, for strength and soothing. So, now she
suddenly sprang up, put on her hat and wraps, and hurried to her one
friend's home. The distance was so small that she needed no escort,
particularly as Robert, who happened to be at the gate, could see her
throughout the little journey. And she knew that the faithful negro boy
would wait there until her return.

"You are all in a flurry, child," said her friend, for