"I don't mean ter be confusin', Miss Clorindy," said Dolf; "it's far from my wishes—leastways wid you."
There was a tender emphasis on the concluding pronoun which quite upset Clorinda. She allowed the carrots to fall back in the pan of water, and seated herself on a stool near by—if anything serious was coming she would receive it with dignity befitting the occasion.
Artful Dolf, profound in his knowledge of the sex, read her thoughts without the slightest difficulty, and chuckled inwardly at the idea that any female heart could resist his fascinations. Still he was in a condition of great perplexity; he had no intention of committing himself until he had learned the exact price Clorinda could pay for the sacrifice he was prepared to make of his youth and good looks. On the other hand, he was sorely puzzled how to obtain the desired information without laying his heart at her feet. All his craft in that direction had signally failed; in that respect Clorinda was astute enough to be fully his match.
But he must say something; Dolf could not afford to lose time in misunderstandings, particularly as he had lately discovered that the sable parson whose meetings she attended, was becoming seriously devoted in his attentions.
"Ah! Miss Clorindy," he said, "de sect is all resemblous in one particular."
"What do yer mean?" inquired Clo, and her voice softened in response to the tenderness in his.
"In yer cruelty," said Dolf, "yer cruelty, Miss Clorindy."
"Laws, nobody ebber sed I was cruel," returned the matter-of-fact Clo. "I wrings de necks ob de chickens and skin de eels alive, 'cause it's a cook's lookout, but I hasn't got a speck ob cruelty in me."
Dolf shook his head, then dropped it on one side with an air which he had found very effective in former flirtations.
"In course yer'll deny it—it's de way ob de sect, but de fact is dar."