From that stile there led a path through the fields which would pass the back of Justice Hare's.

Barbara stopped at it.
"Would you choose the field way to-night, Barbara?
The grass will be damp, and this is the longest way." "But we shall escape the dust of the road." "Oh, very well, if you prefer it.

It will not make three minutes' difference." "He is very anxious to get home to _her_!" mentally exclaimed Barbara.
"I shall fly out upon him, presently, or my heart will burst." Mr.Carlyle crossed the stile, helped over Barbara, and then gave her his arm again.

He had taken her parasol, as he had taken it the last night they had walked together--an elegant little parasol, this, of blue silk and white lace, and he did not switch the hedges with it.

That night was present to Barbara now, with all its words and its delusive hopes; terribly present to her was their bitter ending.
There are women of warm, impulsive temperaments who can scarcely help, in certain moments of highly wrought excitement, over-stepping the bounds of nature and decorum, and giving the reins to temper, tongue, and imagination--making a scene, in short.