But here occurred a strange thing.

It was as though Mary felt that over this one matter Barbara had eluded her; she returned to it again and again, always with contemptuous but inquisitive allusion.
"Did he come last night, Barbara ?" "No." "P'r'aps he did, only you were asleep." "No, he didn't." "You don't believe he'll come ever any more, do you?
Now that I've said he isn't there really ?" "Yes, I do." "Very well, then, I won't see you to-morrow--not at all--not all day--I won't." These crises tore Barbara's spirit.

Seven is not an age that can reason with life's difficulties, and Barbara had, in this business, no reasoning powers at all.

She would die for Mary; she could not deny her Friend.

What was she to do?
And yet--just at this moment when, of all others, it was important that he should come to her and confirm his reality--he made no sign.