“Can't you keep your love alive and not see me?”
“I suppose so, but you are so different from me. You don't feel the same.”
“I feel with my whole soul, Barbara. Can I do more?”
“It breaks my heart to think I am not to see you.” She glanced up into his face. “Not to see you at all—why how shall I manage to endure it?” Her eyes grew wide, filled with a pathetic grief that made him desperate. “And now scarcely a day passes, that I do not catch a glimpse of you.”
“It can't be for long, Barbara.”
“It may be forever.” This was said in a stifled voice.
“It's not as if I were going away—not as if I were to leave the town. We shall see each other constantly.”
“It's worse than if you were going away. It's a great deal worse. Then I could make up my mind to it and could, I suppose, bear it somehow.”
“Dear,” he spoke softly, “dearest, please look up. I want to talk to you. Can't you listen to me? Please, dear, it's not so bad. It might be worse.”
“It's bad enough!” without lifting her head from where it rested upon his arm. “It couldn't be worse. I couldn't suffer more.”