They had all forgotten him, and Sewell felt as if he had neglected
this helpless guest. "Why, no, you mustn't go! I was in hopes we
might do something to make the day pleasant to you. I intended
proposing--"

"Yes," his wife interrupted, believing that he meant to give up one
of his precious afternoons to Barker, and hastening to prevent the
sacrifice, "my son will show you the Public Garden and the Common,
and go about the town with you." She rose too, and young Sewell,
accustomed to suffer, silently acquiesced. "If your train isn't to
start very soon--"

"I guess I better be going," said Barker, and Mrs. Sewell now gave
her husband a look conveying her belief that Barker would be happier
if they let him go. At the same time she frowned upon the monstrous
thought of asking him to stay the night with them, which she
detected in Sewell's face.

She allowed him to say nothing but, "I'm sorry; but if you really
must--"

"I guess I better," persisted Barker. He got himself somehow to the
door, where he paused a moment, and contrived to pant, "Well, good
day," and without effort at more cordial leave-taking, passed out.

Sewell followed him, and helped him find his hat, and made him shake
hands. He went with him to the door, and, beginning to suffer afresh
at the wrong he had done Barker, he detained him at the threshold.
"If you still wish to see a publisher, Mr. Barker, I will gladly go