As a consequence the conversation grew animated, and under cover of it, while Sir Robert was arguing with his neighbour on the left, Barbara asked in a low voice: "What is the row, Alan?
Tell me, I can't wait any longer." "I have quarrelled with them," he answered, staring at his mutton as though he were criticizing it.

"I mean, I have left the firm and have nothing more to do with the business." Barbara's eyes lit up as she whispered back: "Glad of it.

Best news I have heard for many a day.

But then, may I ask why you are here ?" "I came to see you," he replied humbly--"thought perhaps you wouldn't mind," and in his confusion he let his knife fall into the mutton, whence it rebounded, staining his shirt front.
Barbara laughed, that happy, delightful little laugh of hers, presumably at the accident with the knife.

Whether or no she "minded" did not appear, only she handed her handkerchief, a costly, last-fringed trifle, to Alan to wipe the gravy off his shirt, which he took thinking it was a napkin, and as she did so, touched his hand with a little caressing movement of her fingers.