“Dear heart, what is it?”
She shivered and drew away.
“You should not have come—”
“No, no.”
“John, you should not—”
“My life, child—come, speak to me—I cannot bear to hear you weep.”
She knew that he was trying to touch her, to be nearer to her, even with all the deep tenderness of his manhood. It was so easy and yet so difficult, so sweet and yet so full of torment. She felt that she could not bear out against him; and yet—how could she tell?
He spoke again.
“Barbara!”
And then: