“Yes. Courage to do right. That's it, to do right. That is what a man must do. And I must think for you. Our lives are already far apart and I must not keep you longer.”
“Oh, Barney!” cried Iola, her voice breaking, “let me come to you! How can I listen to you saying such terrible things without your arms about me? Can't you see I want you? You are hurting me!”
The pain, the terror in her voice and in her eyes, made him wince as from a stab. He seemed to hesitate as if estimating his strength. Dare he trust himself? It would make the task infinitely harder to have her near him, to feel the touch of her hands, the pressure of her body. But he would save her pain. He would help her through this hour of agony. How great it was he could guess by his own. He led her to a sofa, sat down beside her, and took her in his arms. With a long, shuddering sigh, she let herself sink down, with muscles relaxed and eyes closed.
“Now go on, dear,” she whispered.
“Poor girl! Poor girl!” said Barney, “we have made a great mistake, you and I. I was not made for you nor you for me.”
“Why not?” she whispered.
“Listen to me, darling. Do I love you?”
“Yes,” she answered softly.
“With all my heart and soul?”
“Yes, dear,” she answered again.