"Barbara! You cannot!" cried Cicely quickly; "think what will be said! Think of the shame!"
But Barbara looked at her with a strange smile.
"I love him, Cis," she said softly; "what has love to do with shame?"
And so saying, she mounted her pony, and rode off.
Her heart sang in wild triumph, for pride lay dead within her and love was all in all.
"He loves me," she sang, "he loves me. I go to tell him of my love."
"And if he loves me not!"
Her heart trembled at the thought; yet since her love was strong, she did not pause.
"For," she thought, "I think, indeed, that he loves me. But an he do not, what then? I can but return alone. For what harm to him to know he has my love? 'Twill be no burden to him, rather an added triumph to his life. Surely he shall know I love him. Men do not shame to speak their love to women, is women's love then so poor a thing that they must shame to speak of it to men?"
So mused Barbara, deeming herself more or less than woman.