pieces. Barbara stared, her eyes wide with horror.

"Oh, Mary," she gasped.

"You might help instead of just standing there!"

Then the door opened and, like the avenging gods from Olympus, in came
the two ladies, eagerly, with smiles.

"Now I must just show you," began Mrs. Adams. Then the catastrophe was
discovered--a moment's silence, then a cry from the poor lady: "Oh, my
vase! It was priceless!" (It was not, but no matter.)

About Barbara the air clung so thick with catastrophe that it was from a
very long way indeed that she heard Mary's voice:

"Barbara didn't mean-----"

"Did you do this, Barbara?" her mother turned round upon her.

"You know, Mary, I've told you a thousand times that you're not to come
in here!" this from Mrs. Adams, who was obviously very angry indeed.

Mary was on her feet now and, as she looked across at Barbara, there was
in her glance a strange look, ironical, amused, inquisitive, even
affectionate. "Well, mother, I knew we mustn't. But Barbara wanted to
_look_ so I said we'd just _peep_, but that we weren't to touch
anything, and then Barbara couldn't help it, really; her shoulder just
brushed the shelf----" and still as she looked there was in her eyes
that strange irony: "Well, now you see me as I am--I'm bored by all this