From the library sir Wilton saw her stormy exit and departure. “By Jove!” he said to himself, “that woman must be one of the right sort! She's what my Ruby might have been by this time if she'd been spared! A hundred to one, my lady was insolent to her!--said something cool about her mad-cap girl, probably! _She's_ the right sort, by Jove, that little Bab! If only my Richard now, leathery fellow, would glue on to her! There's nothing left in this cursed world of the devil and all his angels that I should like half so well! I'll put him up to it, I will! Arthur and she indeed! As if a plate of porridge like Arthur would draw a fireflash like Bab! I'd give the whole litter of 'em, and throw in the dam, to call that plucky little robin my girl! I'd give my soul to have such a girl!” It did not occur to him that his soul for Barbara would scarcely be fair barter. “Dick's well enough,” he went on, “but he's a man, and you've got to quarrel with him! I'm tired of quarrelling!” The instant she reached home, Mrs. Wylder sent for her daughter, and demanded, fury still blazing in her eyes, what she had been doing to give that beast of a lady Ann a right to talk. “Tell me first how she talked, mamma,” returned Barbara, used to her mother's ways, and nowise annoyed at being so addressed. “I can't have been doing anything very bad, for she's been doing what she can to get me and keep me.” “She has?--And you never told me!” “I didn't think it worth telling you.--She's been setting papa on to me too!” “Oh! I see! And you wouldn't set him and me on each other! Dutiful child! You reckoned you'd had enough of that! But I'll have no buying and selling of my goods behind my back! If you speak one more civil word to that young jackanapes Lestrange, you shall hear it again on both your ears!” “I will not speak an uncivil word to him, mamma; he has never given me occasion; but I shan't break my heart if I never see him again. If you like, I won't once go near the place. Theodora's the only one I care about--and she's as dull as she is good!” “What did the kangaroo mean by saying you were sweet on somebody not worthy of you?” “I know what she meant, mother; but the man is worthy of a far better woman than me--and I hope he'll get her some day!” Thereupon little Bab burst into tears, half of rage, half of dread lest her good wish for Richard should be granted otherwise than she meant it. For she did not at the moment desire very keenly that he should get all he deserved, but thought she might herself just do, while she did hope to be a better woman before the day arrived. “Come, come, child! None of that! I don't like it. I don't want to cry on the top of my rage. What is the man? Who is he? What does the woman know about him?”