Barbara

           Anothershockwaswaitingformefartherdownthestory.

           Forwehadresumedouradventures,thoughweseldomsawBaileynow.AtlongintervalswemethimonourwaytoorfromtheGardens,and,iftherewasnonefromPilkington’stomarkhim,methoughthelookedatussomewhatlongingly,asifbeneathhisrealknickerbockersamorseloftheegg-shellstilladhered.OtherwisehegaveDavidanotunfriendlykickinpassing,andcalledhim“youngster.”Thatwasaboutall.

           WhenOliverdisappearedfromthelifeoftheGardenswehadloftedhimoutofthestory,anddidverywellwithouthim,extendingouroperationstothemainland,wheretheywereonsovastascalethatwewererapidlydepopulatingtheearth.AndthensaidDavidoneday,

           “ShallweletBarbarain?”

           WehadoccasionallyconsideredthegivingofBailey’splacetosomeotherchildoftheGardens,diversofDavid’syearhavingsoughtelection,evenwithbribes;butBarbarawasnewtome.

           “Whoisshe?”Iasked.

           “She’smysister.”

           YoumayimaginehowIgaped.

           “Shehasn’tcomeyet,”Davidsaidlightly,“butshe’scoming.”

           Iwasshocked,notperhapssomuchshockedasdisillusioned,forthoughIhadalwayssuspicionedMaryA——asonewhoharbouredthecraziestambitionswhenshelookedmosthumble,ofsuchpresumptionasthisIhadneverthoughthercapable.

           IwanderedacrosstheBroadWalktohavealookatIrene,andshewaswearinganunmistakableair.