"She's splendid at Rule of Three."

"Which is more than you are," said Mrs. Walrond in severe tones, "who
always make thirteen out of five and seven. Barbara, love, you are
looking very tired. All this noise is too much for you, you must go
and lie down at once in your own room. No, not on the sofa, in your own
room. Now say good-bye to Anthony and go."

So Barbara, who was really tired, though with a happy weariness, did as
she was bid. Her hand met Anthony's and lingered there for a little,
her violet eyes met his brown eyes and lingered there a little; her lips
spoke some few words of commonplace farewell. Then staying a moment to
take the violets from the cracked vase, and another moment to kiss her
father as she passed him, she walked, or rather glided from the room
with the graceful movement that was peculiar to her, and lo! at once
for Anthony it became a very emptiness. Moreover, he grew aware of the
hardness of his wooden seat and that the noise of the girls was making
his head ache. So presently he too rose and departed.



CHAPTER III

AUNT MARIA

Six months or so had gone by and summer reigned royally at Eastwich,
for thus was the parish named of which the Reverend Septimus Walrond
had spiritual charge. The heath was a blaze of gold, the cut hay smelt
sweetly in the fields, the sea sparkled like one vast sapphire, the
larks beneath the sun and the nightingales beneath the moon sang their