He had been
rude to her, she had been rude to him; that was the way they had said
good-bye! Then, as she emerged into the sunlight, she thought: "Oh!
well; he doesn't care, and I'm sure I don't!"
She heard a voice behind her.
"May I get you a cab?" and at once the sore feeling began to die away;
but she did not look round, only smiled, and shook her head, and made a
little room for him on the pavement.
But though they walked, they did not at first talk. There was rising
within Barbara a tantalizing devil of desire to know the feelings that
really lay behind that deferential gravity, to make him show her how
much he really cared. She kept her eyes demurely lowered, but she let
the glimmer of a smile flicker about her lips; she knew too that her
cheeks were glowing, and for that she was not sorry. Was she not to
have any--any--was he calmly to go away--without----And she thought: "He
shall say something! He shall show me, without that horrible irony of
his!"
She said suddenly:
"Those two are just waiting--something will happen!"
"It is probable," was his grave answer.
She looked at him then--it pleased her to see him quiver as if that
glance had gone right into him; and she said softly:
"And I think they will be quite right."
She knew those were reckless words, nor cared very much what they meant;
but she knew the revolt in them would move him.
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