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The temper of the head of the family suffered in at least equal degree. From the first of Barby's coming poor Fleda had done her utmost to prevent the want of Mons. Emile from being felt. Mr. Rossitur's table was always set by her careful hand, and all the delicacies that came upon it were, unknown to him, of her providing. Even the bread. One day at breakfast Mr.
"Fleda," said Barby, putting her head in, "I wish you'd just step out here and tell me which cheese you'd like to have cut." "What a fool !" said Marion. "Let her cut them all if she likes." "She is no fool," said Fleda. She thought Barby's punctiliousness, however, a little ill-timed, as she rose from her sofa, and went into the kitchen.
She sat down before the kitchen fire-place, but she had hardly realized that she was alone when one of the many doors opened, and Barby's tall figure walked in. "Here you be," she half whispered. "I knowed there wouldn't be a minute's peace to-morrow; so I thought I'd bid you good-bye to-night." Fleda gave her a smile and a hand, but did not speak.
"Thank you, Barby!" was Fleda's most grateful return; and summoning her aunt up-stairs she took her into her own room and locked the door before she gave her the letter which Barby's shrewdness and delicacy had taken such care should not reach its owner in a wrong way. Fleda watched her as her eye ran over the paper and caught it as it fell from her fingers. "My Dear Wife,
Barby drove home another point. "Steve gave us a cover story, and what good is a cover story if you don't use it?" Scotty grinned at Rick's expression of resignation. "Better give up," he advised. Jan hadn't said anything. She just looked at Rick in a beseeching way that said as much as all Barby's arguments. Rick shook his head unhappily. He knew when he was licked.
The phantom officer swayed a little, and the young face was distorted with agony. It grew dimmer and dimmer until only the white mist remained. Rick was aware of Barby's soft sobs next to him, but his eyes remained riveted on the white mist. A yell from Scotty snapped him out of his reverie. "Let's go, boy!"
Scotty asked, "Why would anyone want to disrupt the brains of the project team? Seems to me that's doing it the hard way. Assassination would be a lot easier." Rick shook his head. He had wondered about the same thing. Barby and Jan motioned for silence. They were listening to a vocalist who happened to be Barby's favorite of the moment.
He had another thought, too. "What time is it?" Barby consulted her watch. "Five before eight. Why?" "The barbershop doesn't open until nine. I think it might be useful to have someone call on the houseboaters and try to pump them a little. It might be interesting to hear why they chose to anchor in North Cove." Barby's eyes got round. "Would you do it?" Rick shook his head.
The boys looked at each other. Their opinion was that Barby had taken just one hour longer than necessary. Here, obviously, was that mysterious thing, the feminine mind at work. Rick examined the problem from the scientific viewpoint and got nowhere. The ways of girls defied analysis. Both boys had to admit, however, that the results of Barby's shopping had been worth the delay.
Pain of body rising above pain of mind had obliged as far as possible even thought to be still; when a loud rap at the front door brought the blood in a sudden flush of pain to Fleda's face. She knew instinctively what it meant. She heard Barby's distinct accents saying that somebody was "not well." The other voice was more smothered. But in a moment the door of the breakfast-room opened and Mr.
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