"I _thought_ that was Elinor Sparrow and her mother," Mrs. Toland said,
bowing to two ladies who were now at some distance, and were leaving the
room. "They were at that table, but I couldn't be sure who they were
until they got up."
"Was Elinor right there?" Barbara asked quickly.
"Why, yes; but as I say--"
Barbara pushed back her broiled bird with a gesture of utter
exasperation.
"I think you might have _said_ something about it, Mother," she said,
angry and disappointed.
"Why, my darling," Mrs. Toland began, fluttered, "how could I
dream--besides, as I say, I couldn't see--"
"You knew how I felt about Saturday," Barbara said bitterly, "and you
let them sit there an hour! I could have turned around--I could have--"
"Listen to Mother, dear. You--"
"And I can't understand why you wouldn't naturally mention it," Barbara
interrupted, in a high, critical voice. Tears trembled into her eyes. "I
would have given a great deal to have seen Elinor to-day," she said
stiffly.
Mrs. Toland, smitten dumb with penitence, could only eye her with
sympathy and distress.
"Listen, dear," she suggested eagerly, after a moment.
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