"I don't want to hear another word like that, Thomas Payne,"
Charlotte said, sternly, and the young man drooped before her.
"I beg your pardon, Charlotte," said he. "I suppose I ought not to
have spoken so, if you-- Oh, Charlotte, then you don't think you ever
can get over this and think a little bit of me?"
"No," replied Charlotte, in a steady voice, "I don't think I ever
can, Thomas."
"I don't mean that I am trying to get you away from any other fellow,
Charlotte--I wouldn't do anything like that; but if he won't-- Oh,
Charlotte, are you sure?"
"I don't think I ever can," repeated Charlotte, monotonously, looking
at the wall past Thomas.
"I've always thought so much of you, Charlotte, though I never told
you so."
"You'd better not now."
"Yes, I'm going to, now. I've got to. Then I'll never say another
word--I'll go away, and never say another word." Thomas got up, and
brought his chair close to Charlotte's. "Don't move away," he
pleaded; "let me sit here near you once--I never shall again. I'm
going to tell you, Charlotte. I used to look across at you sitting
in the meeting-house, Sabbath days, when I was a boy, and think you
were the handsomest girl I ever saw. Then I did try to go with you
once before I went to college; perhaps you didn't know that I meant
anything, but I did. Barney was in the way then a little, but I
didn't think much of it.
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