"I have not been kind; I only said that I loved you. That is either above or below kindness, certainly not on a level with that tepid feeling."
But Anne would not listen, "While I thank you, I wish at the same time to say that I understand quite well that it is but an impulse which—"
"It was but an impulse, I grant," said Heathcote, again interrupting her, "but with roots too strong for me to break—as I have found to my dismay," he added, smiling, as he met her eyes.
"I wish you, I beg you, to return to New York on this train now waiting," said the girl, abandoning all her carefully composed sentences, and bringing forward her one desire with an earnestness which could not be doubted.
"I shall do nothing of the kind."
"But what is the use of going on?"
"I never cared much about use, Miss Douglas."
"And then there is the pain."
"Not for me."
"For me, then," she said, looking away from him across the net-work of tracks, and up the little village street ending in the blue side of the mountain. "Putting everything else aside, do you care nothing for my pain?"