"He haven't axed ezacally yet."
"Ass! Fool! Dolt! But perhaps he's in mortal fear of you—frightened to speak and not able to trust his pen. You're too good for him, Sally, and he knows it."
"I be his awn order in life, for that matter."
"I see, I see; it's this hidden flame burning in you that made you so quick to find out our secret. I love you for it! I love every pretty face in Devonshire, because my lady is pretty; and every young woman on Dartmoor, because my lady is young. Can you understand that?"
"No, I caan't," confessed Sally. "'Tis fulishness."
"Not at all. At this moment I could positively hug you—not disrespectfully, you know, but just out of love—for Miss Endicott."
"It do make a man dangerous seemin'ly—this gert love of a lady."
"Not at all. Far from it. It draws his claws. He goes in chains. Did anybody ever dare to hug you, Sally?"
"No fay! Should like to have seed 'em!"
"You wouldn't have minded one though?"