“I oughtn’t to be here—but—but I love you, Barry, I do—I do!”
“Of course you do, my blessed infant. Now, as we didn’t get along very well with our marriage settlement for a topic, let’s try again. Beatrice wants to go away from here. Do you want her to?”
“Oh, no! Don’t let her go. I’d be lost without her. I want to go, you know, but I can’t, I suppose. Beg her to stay as long as I do,—won’t you, dear?”
The pleading in the blue eyes was so tender and sweet that Barry kissed them both before replying. “I will, darling. I’ll beg anybody in the world for anything you want, if I have to become a professional mendicant. Now, brace up, Sweetheart, for I want to talk to you about lots of things, and how can I, if you burst into tears at every new subject I bring up?”
“I’m upset to-day, Barry mine. Don’t let’s talk. Just wander around the gardens.”
“Wander it is,” and Barry started off obediently, still with his arm round her.
“Unhand me, villain,” she said, trying to speak gaily. But it was impossible, and the scarlet lips trembled into a curve that broke Barry’s heart for its sadness. He gathered her to himself.
“Dear heart, you are all unstrung. Go to your room for a time, don’t you want to? Let Beatrice look after you,—she’s kindness itself.”
“Indeed she is. I’ll do that. And I’ll come back, Barry, a new woman.”
“For heaven’s sake, don’t do that! You’d make a fine militant suffragist!”