“It's no use talking, Charlotte.”
“Do you think this is right, Barney?”
Barney was silent.
“If you can't answer me I will go home,” said Charlotte, and she turned, but Barney caught her in his arms. He held her close, breathing in great pants. He pulled her hood back with trembling strength, and kissed her over and over, roughly.
“Charlotte,” he half sobbed.
Charlotte's voice, full of a great womanly indignation, sounded in his ear. “Barney, you let me go,” she said, and Barney obeyed.
“When I came here alone this way I trusted you to treat me like a gentleman,” said she. She pulled her hood over her face again and turned to go. “I shall never speak to you about this again,” said she. “You have chosen your own way, and you know best whether it's right, or you're happy in it.”
“I hope you'll be happy, Charlotte,” Barney said, with a great sigh.
“That doesn't make any difference to you,” said Charlotte, coldly.
“Yes, it does; it does, Charlotte! When I heard about Thomas Payne, I felt as if—if it would make you happy. I—”