Iola could not check a quick gasp. Mrs. Duff Charrington glanced at her white face.
“Young man,” she said sternly, leaning out toward him and looking Barney in the eyes, “don't be a fool. The man that would, from pique, willingly hurt a friend is a mean and cruel coward.”
“Mrs. Charrington,” replied Barney in a steady voice, “I have just come from an operation by which a little girl, an only child, has lost her arm. It was the mother that desired it, not from cruelty, but from love. It is because it is best, that I go to-morrow. Good-bye.” Then turning to Iola he said, “I shall see you to-night.” He lifted his hat and turned away.
“Drive home, Smith,” said Mrs. Charrington sharply; “the others will find their way.”
“Take me home,” whispered Iola, with dry lips.
“Do you love him?” said Mrs. Duff Charrington, taking the girl's hand in hers.
“Ah, yes. I never knew how much.”
“Tut! tut! child, the world still moves. Baltimore is not so far and he is only a man.” Mrs. Duff Charrington's tone did not indicate a high opinion of the masculine section of humanity. “You'll just come with me for dinner and then I shall send you home. Thank God, we can still eat.”
For some minutes they drove along in silence.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Charrington, following up the line of her thought, “that's a man for you—thinks the whole world moves round the axis of his own life. But I like him. He has a good face. Still,” she mused, “a man isn't everything, although once I—but never mind, there is always a way of bringing them to time.”