"Waal, I hate ter tell ye, Justus, but I hev ter do it, an'
I mought ez well the day that I promised ter set the day.
It's—it's—never! I ain't goin' ter marry ye at all!"
He recoiled as from a blow. And yet he could not accept the fact.
"The'dosia," he said, "air ye mad with me 'kase ye 'low I forgot ye this evenin'?"
Theodosia had recovered her poise. Now that she had begun she felt suddenly fluent. It did not accord with her estimate of her own attractions to dismiss a lover because he had forgotten her. She began to find a relish in the situation, and sought to adjust its details more accurately to her preferences.
"Justus, I know ye never furgot me fur one minute. I kin find no fault with yer likin' fur me."
She had never seen a stage. She had never heard of a theatre, but she was posing and playing a part as definitely as if it graced the boards.
He detected a certain spurious note in her voice. It bewildered him.
He stared silently at her.
"I can't marry you-uns. I never kin."
"Why?" he demanded in a measured tone. "How kem ye hev changed yer mind? Ye hev told me often that ye would."
"W-a-al," she drawled, looking away at the skies, her unthinking eyes arrested, too, by the blazing comet, "I did 'low wunst I would. But a man with eddication would suit me bes', an' ye hain't got none."