"Afterwards then." A sudden thought came to Barbara. "Mrs. Waddington, if mother was your dearest friend why haven't you known me all this time?" "Your mother and I lost sight of each other before you were born." "Mother didn't want to." "Nor I." "Mother would have hated you to think she did." "I never thought it. She must have known I didn't." "Then why--" "Did we lose sight?" "Yes, why? People don't, if they can help it, if they care enough. And mother cared." "You're a persistent little thing, aren't you? Are you trying to make out that I didn't care?" "I'm trying to make you see that mother did." "Well, my dear, we both cared, but we _couldn't_ help it. We married, and our husbands didn't hit it off." "Didn't they? And daddy was so nice. Didn't you know how nice he was?" "Oh, yes. I knew. My husband was nice, too, Barbara; though you mightn't think it." "Oh, but I do. I'm sure he is. Only I haven't seen him yet." "So nice. But," said Fanny, pursuing her own thought, "he never made a joke in his life, and your father never _made_ anything else." "Daddy didn't 'make' jokes. They came to him." "I've seen them come. He never sent any of them away, no matter how naughty they were, or how expensive. I used to adore his jokes.... But Horatio didn't. He didn't like my adoring them, so you see--" "I see. I wonder," said Barbara, looking up at the portrait again, "what he's thinking about?" "I used to wonder." "But you know now?" "Yes, I know now," Fanny said. "What'll happen," said Barbara, "if _I_ make jokes?" "Nothing. He'll never see them." "If he saw daddy's--" "Oh, but he didn't. That was me." Barbara was thoughtful. "I daresay," she said, "you won't keep me long. Supposing I can't do the work?" "The _work_?" Fanny's eyes were interrogative and a little surprised, as though they were saying, "Who said work? What work?" "Well, Mr. Waddington's work. I've got to help him with his book, haven't I?" "Oh, his book, yes. _When_ he's writing it. He isn't always. Does he look," said Fanny, "like a man who'd always be writing a book?" "No. I can't say he does, exactly." (What _did_ he look like?) "Well, then, it'll be all right. I mean _we_ shall be." "I only wondered whether I could really do what he wants." "If Ralph could," said Fanny, "you can." "Who's Ralph?" "Ralph is my cousin. He _was_ Horatio's secretary." "_Was_." Barbara considered it. "Did _he_ make jokes, then?" "Lots. But that wasn't why he left.... It was an awful pity, too; because he's most dreadfully hard up." "If he's hard up," Barbara said, "I couldn't bear to think I've done him out of a job." "You haven't. He had to go." Fanny turned again to her flowers and Barbara to her Stores list. "Are you sure," Fanny said suddenly, "you put 'striped'?" "Striped? The pyjamas? No, I haven't."