"We can't. Not to-night, Neil. Wait."
"I'm sick of waiting. I've got nothing to gain by it. I've done all the waiting I could. I've stood all I could. You're the only thing I want in the world, and I couldn't wait for you any longer if I could get you that way—and I wouldn't get you. I'd lose you."
"Not to-night. To-morrow, if you really want me to go. To-morrow, truly."
"You're lying to me, and I'm tired of it."
"No, Neil—Neil dear."
"You're lying."
"How dare you say that! I hate you!"
"That's right. We'll talk straight now. It's time."
"I hate you. Don't touch me. You're going to take me home—you must—and I'm never going to speak to you again. I think you're crazy. But I'm not afraid of you—I'm not afraid."
The low-keyed, hurrying voices broke off abruptly. There was no sound in the buggy but Judith's rapid breathing, more and more like sobs, but no tears came. The two faces that confronted each other were alike in the gloom, white and angry and very young; alike as the faces of enemies are when they measure each other's strength in silence. It was a cruel, tense little silence, but the sound that broke it was more cruel. It was dry and hard and had nothing to do with his own conquering laugh, that the girl knew, but it came from the boy.