But the Judge only laughed, and pulled her down on his linen clad knees, demure frills, "night-basket" and all.
"See here, madam," he demanded, "what do you mean by saying I'm 'like a man'?"
Charlotte laughed in spite of herself.
"I meant it was like a man to take the very reverse of Sophy's case as an example," she said, putting her arm about his neck as they rocked gently together, and rubbing her cheek against his. "Don't you see? It's quite, quite different with us. Why your being my elder, by so many years, only makes me look up to you...."
"'Look up to me!'" echoed he, with a burst of Homeric mirth. Charlotte clapped her hand over his mouth. "Sssh!" she warned. "They'll hear you. They'll think we're laughing at them."
"Poor things," said he, sobered. "It seems mighty sad to think of two lovers being afraid of being laughed at."
"It is sad," said Charlotte. "You think I'm cross about it, Joe, but I could cry about it this minute."
She dropped her head on his shoulder, and her other arm went round his neck.
"Don't," said the Judge softly. "Don't you cry, honey, whatever you do."
Charlotte from her refuge in his strong neck spoke passionately. Her warm breath tickled him almost beyond endurance, but he held her and suffered in silence with the true martyr spirit of the husband who is born and not made.