"Dar ain't much wuth livin' for," she said gloomily.
Dolf was frightened at once; when Clo got into one of her desponding humors she became very religious without delay; and he trembled with fear that she would condemn him to Methodist hymns and a prayer-meeting that very night.
"Don't say dat, Miss Clorindy, now don't!" he exclaimed pathetically. "You's de light ob too many eyes for sich renumerations—you lights der hearts as de sun does de sky at noonday."
Clorinda relented; with all her firmness and numerous other grim virtues, she was a thorough woman at heart, and never could withstand flattery adroitly administered.
"Go 'long wid yer poety nonsense," said she, giving a coquettish toss to her head that made her gorgeous bandanna flutter as if suddenly electrified. "Go 'way wid sich, I say."
"Don't call it nonsense, sweet Miss Clorindy," urged Dolf; "when a gemman disposes de tenderest feelins' ob his bussom at yer feet, don't jist at 'em."
To be called by such endearing epithets in two consecutive sentences, softened Clorinda greatly; this time something uncommon must be coming—Dolf certainly was in earnest.
"I don't see nothin' at my feet," said she, with a little giggle.
"Yes, yer does, Miss Clorindy," pleaded Dolf; "yes, yer does—now don't deny it."
"La!" said Clorinda, in a delightful flurry, "you men is so confusin'."