"Oh! Lord bless you _yes_, Ma'am! I've seen a deal of the world. There was an interlude, a most romantic affair, Miss Barbara--there I go again--well, Ma'am, I'll tell you all about it some day. It's quite as interesting as any printed tale. In fact there's one story that reminds me very much indeed of my own romantic affair,--no doubt you've read it,--Mr. James Berwick, he knows it quite well,--that of the Primrose family. Olivia her name was, and she was deceived just as I was,--but there, I made the best of it, and it all came to pass most providentially. Why, they would never have reared Mr. Berwick if it hadn't been for me and my being able to suckle the dear lamb, and _there_ would have been a misfortune for our dear country!" A half shuffling step coming across the hall checked, as if by magic, Mrs. Turke's flow of reminiscence. She looked deprecatingly into Barbara's face. "You won't be mentioning what I've been telling you to the doctor, will you, Ma'am? He hates anything romantic, that he do, and as for love and poetry,--well, he don't even know the meaning of those expressions! I've often had to say that right out to his face!" "And then what does he say?" "It just depends on the mood he's in: sometimes--I'm sorry to say it of him, that I am--he uses most coarse expressions,--quite rude ones! Only yesterday, he said to me, 'If you will talk about spades, Mrs. Turke, then talk about spades, don't call them silver spoons,'--as if I would do such a silly thing! But there, he do lead such a horrid life, all alone in that little house of his, it's small wonder he don't quite know how to converse with a refined person. But he's wonderfully educated--Madam's always thought a deal of him." As Doctor McKirdy opened the door Mrs. Turke slipped quickly past him, and silently he watched her go, with no jibe ready. He was looking straight at Mrs. Rebell, hesitating, even reddening dully, an odd expression in his light eyes. Barbara's heart sank,--what was he going to tell her?--what painful thing had he to say? Then he came close to her, and thrust a large open envelope into her hand. "Madam bid me give you these," he said; "when you are wanting anything, just send one or more along by post,--duly registered, of course,"--and under her hand Barbara felt the crinkle of bank notes. "She would like you to get your things, your clothes and a' that, from Paris. Old Léonie, Madam's French maid,--I don't think you've seen her yet,--will give you the addresses. Madam likes those about her to look well. I'm the only one that has any licence that way--oh! and something considerably more valuable she has also sent you," he fumbled in his pocket and held out a small gilt key. "Madam desires you to take her writing-table, here, for your own use. Inside you'll find the letters she spoke of yesterday night--those written by Mrs. Richard,--the other packets, you will please, she says, not disturb."