“So Dick Pelham is her choice,” muttered Tarbot. “I know where I shall find them; they are sure to be in one of the conservatories. If I remember aright, this balcony runs right round to the conservatories; I don’t mind spying on them. Barbara is turning me into a devil, and I shall act as one. Pelham looked as if he meant to say something to-night; she will reply. I must know all about it; I must be in the thick of this matter.” As Tarbot thought he began to creep along the balcony. Presently he found himself standing outside the great conservatory. The windows were all wide open. Tarbot stationed himself in deep shadow; he could hear almost every word which was spoken within the glass walls. At first there was a confusion of sound, then two voices, distinct and clear, fell on the man’s ears. “I must have your answer, Barbara,” said Pelham. His voice was eager and tremulous. “Say yes or no to me at once.” There was a pause, then came Barbara’s reply. “I have loved you for long years, Dick; I shall never love anybody else. I would willingly become engaged to you but for mother. But mother is miserable and anxious. She has got into great money difficulties. She hopes against hope that I will relieve the strain by marrying a rich man, but, Dick, I cannot do it. I would do much for mother, but I cannot destroy my whole life even for her. You are the only one I love; I cannot give you up.” “That’s right, Barbara; that’s plucky!” said the young man. “Then you will become engaged to me, darling?” “I can neither give you up nor become engaged to you. You see for yourself, do you not, how I am pulled both ways? It would drive mother mad at the present crisis if I were to tell her that all hope is over—that I am engaged to you and will not look at any other man. Oh, Dick! my heart is torn. I am an unhappy, miserable girl!” “You ought to tell her the truth,” said Pelham. “She has no right whatever to coerce you. Tell her to-night; tell her you are engaged to me. I do not expect her to consent to our marriage just at present, but at least she ought to know of the engagement.” “But we are not engaged.” “No, but we ought to be—where is the difficulty? Barbara, it will be such an incentive. I shall work like a horse, and I know I shall get on. I have brains and pluck. You won’t have long to wait—I vow it. Already I am doing well in my profession; in ten years’ time I shall be a rich man.” “But I cannot wait for ten years,” said Barbara slowly. “I don’t mind how poor you are, Dick. I would marry you to-morrow if it were not for mother. I don’t know how she will get out of her difficulties. I cannot help her in the way she wishes.” “They speak of you in connection with Selwyn,” said the young man. “It is too awful.”