“Because did I not call,” answered he kindly but firmly, “I should be lacking in courtesy to a lady who has never shown me anything but the utmost civility. However, since you do not wish it, I will not go to-day.”
“I do not wish you to go at all,” she said. “But I see it is quite sufficient for me to say that I do not desire you to do a thing, for you to do it.”
And after this she sulked and said she did not love him.
Upon this the Driver bethought him a new song he had just learnt, and he determined to sing it in the hope of winning her back to good temper. So he began:
“‘Oh, down in Alabama, before I was set free,
I loved a dark-eyed, yaller girl,
And thought—’”
But he got no further, for here Claribelle interrupted him.
“Does that apply to me?” she said with flashing eyes.
“Well, you have dark eyes, you know,” he said pleasantly, hoping to make her smile. “Beautiful dark eyes, too.”
“Stop the wagon!” she said furiously. “I will not be so insulted. Dark eyes, yes; but yaller! yaller! yaller!”
“Allow me to explain. I only—” began the Driver.