As Barbara uttered the last words the drawing-room door was opened and Mrs. Evershed came in. She was a handsome woman, tall and stately. There were hard, worn lines round her mouth, but her relief was expressed in the eyes, which were still shining as if through recent tears, and in the mouth, which smiled, notwithstanding its tenseness. Pelham went up to her eagerly. “Is what Barbara tells me true, Mr. Pelham?” said Mrs. Evershed. “It is perfectly true,” replied the young man. “I love Barbara with all my heart. She has promised to marry me, but we should both like your consent.” “That means,” said Mrs. Evershed, “that you would marry without it.” “I should,” was the quick response; “but I doubt whether Barbara would yield to my entreaties.” “I don’t know what I should have done if I had been tried,” said Barbara, “but luckily it is not necessary. Mother consents, don’t you, mother—you consent to make me happy in my own way?” “Yes, my child, I cannot refuse my consent. I have been relieved of a great load of care, Mr. Pelham, and it behooves me to be good to others. I may as well say frankly that I had more ambitious views for Barbara, although, of course, I like you personally very much.” As Mrs. Evershed said the last words she held out her hand. “I give my consent, Dick,” she said softly. The young man grasped the hand she offered. “You are more than good,” he said. “You make me happier than I have words to express.” “Well, come down and have lunch with us now. I shall have much, of course, to talk to you about afterwards. Yes, I allow the engagement, but the marriage need not take place for some time.” “We can talk that over by and by, mother,” said Barbara. “Come, Dick; come to lunch. I am so hungry.” They had just assembled in the dining-room when there came a ring at the front door, and a moment later Tarbot appeared. He entered the room hurriedly, shook hands with Mrs. Evershed, nodded to Pelham, and then approached Barbara’s side. When she saw him her face grew white. She looked round her eagerly; the servant had withdrawn. She held out both her hands then and clasped Tarbot’s. “I must thank you here and now,” she said. “I do so with a full heart. I did not know it was in you. You are the most generous man in the world.” A queer look came into Tarbot’s face. His eager eyes looked into the girl’s; they glittered with suppressed emotion. He tried to say something, but no words would come. Barbara’s girlish thanks unnerved him. Pelham was watching him intently. The next moment the little party were seated at the luncheon table. Just as the servant was handing an _entrée_, Tarbot glanced at Mrs. Evershed and spoke quietly. “This is very sad about Piers Pelham.” “What about him?” asked Mrs. Evershed. Pelham dropped his knife and fork. Barbara looked up with interrogation and alarm in her eyes.