She pulled him toward a brougham that stood at the curbstone.
“Jump in,” she whispered. Then turning to the gentleman, who in a bewildered way fancied she had caught a prodigal brother in the crowd, “Good-night, Mr. Cleveland,” she said: “thank you!”
One moment Richard hesitated; but he saw that neither place nor time allowed anything but obedience, and when she turned again, he was already seated.
“Home!” she said to the coachman as she got in, for she had no attendant.
“I must talk fast,” she began, “and so must you; we have not far to go together.—Why did you not write to me?”
“I did write.”
“Did you!” exclaimed Barbara.
“I did indeed.”
“Then what could you think of me?”
“I thought nothing you would not like me to think. I was sure there was an explanation!”