Her face grew stern.
“Don’t talk that way, Frank. That ain’t respectful to my mother. She’s had a hard life an’ so’s my father. You know I want to come, but I can’t. It’s my place to stay an’ take care o’ her. I’m goin’ to do it—hard ’s it is. My leavin’ ’em ’u’d just take the heart out of both of ’em. An’ there’s Nellie, too.”
“Demaris—” he spoke slowly; his face was pale—“I’m goin’ to say somethin’ to you I never thought I’d say to any girl alive. But the fact is, I didn’t know till right now how much I think o’ you. You marry me, an’ we’ll all live together?”
Her face softened. She leaned a little toward him with uncontrollable tenderness. But as he made a quick movement, she drew back.
“No, Frank. I can’t—I can’t! It won’t do. Such things is what breaks women’s hearts!”
“What things, dear?”
“Folks livin’ together that way. There’s no good ever comes of it. I’d have to set up with mother just the same, an’ you’d be worryin’ all the time for fear it ’u’d make me sick, an’ you’d be wantin’ to set up with ’er yourself.”
“Of course,” he said, stoutly. “I’d expect to. That’s what I mean. I’d take some o’ your load off o’ you.”
Demaris smiled mournfully. “You don’t know what it is, Frank. It’s all very well to talk about it, but when it comes to doin’ it you’d be tired out ’n a month. You’d wish you hadn’t married me—an’ that ’u’d kill me!”
“I wouldn’t. Oh, Demaris, just you try me. I’ll be good to all your folks—just as good’s can be, dear. I swear it.”