"And I shall think no more about it," she added, "and advise you to do
the same."

Bettina, who was usually so gentle, could be prettily imperious when
she chose. And now, wrought up by Malcom's reference to Barbara and her
own fast crowding thoughts, her voice took on this tone, and she turned
with high head to leave the studio.

"Betty! Betty!" pleaded Malcom, running after her. "Why, Betty!" and the
surprised, pained tone of his voice instantly stopped her on the
staircase.

"I do not mean anything disagreeable, Malcom," she conceded, "only I
could not bear to have anything said about Barbara or to Barbara, that
might in any way disturb her. That is all,--forgive me, Malcom." And the
two friends clasped hands.

Malcom went back into the studio, his pursed lips emitting a low,
meditative whistle, while Bettina hurried downstairs, her mind beset
with conjectures.

It was not Mr. Sumner of whom she was thinking, but her sister. A veil
seemed to withdraw before her consciousness, and to reveal the possible
meaning of much that had perplexed her during the past months. For if
Mr. Sumner had really been learning to love Barbara, might it not also
be that Barbara cared more for him than Bettina had been wont to think?

Her thoughts went back to many of their first conversations after
coming to Florence; to Barbara's intense absorption in Mr. Sumner's