But all the time, Barbara, though seemingly unconscious, was noting with her smiling eyes, the tiny movement's, by which one woman can tell what is passing in another.

She saw a little quiver tighten the corner of the lips, the eyes suddenly grow large and dark, the thin blouse desperately rise and fall.

And her fancy, quickened by last night's memory, saw this woman giving herself up to the memory of love in her thoughts.

At this sight she felt a little of that impatience which the conquering feel for the passive, and perhaps just a touch of jealousy.
Whatever Miltoun decided, that would this woman accept! Such resignation, while it simplified things, offended the part of Barbara which rebelled against all inaction, all dictation, even from her favourite brother.

She said suddenly: "Are you going to do nothing?
Aren't you going to try and free yourself?
If I were in your position, I would never rest till I'd made them free me." But Mrs.Noel did not answer; and sweeping her glance from that crown of soft dark hair, down the soft white figure, to the very feet, Barbara cried: "I believe you are a fatalist." Soon after that, not knowing what more to say, she went away.