"Curly," says she, "stop! I'll not have this. Stop, I say!"
"You'll have this, and a lot more," says I to her, "till this thing is settled. Let me alone with him. Haven't your pa and me give up our lives for you? It's a fine trade you're trying to make; to trade us for a low-down coward like this. They built that fence, not us. Hell could freeze before your pa or me would ever cross it; but here you're talking the way you done with their hired man—that has sneaked around here to meet you."
He didn't give back none, though he couldn't talk at once.
"Go slow!" says he. "Curly, be careful! I didn't have any other chance."
"Any other chance?" says I. "For what? To make love to a girl that ain't had much experience—to make love to her because she's got a load of money? I've seen some sort of dirt done in my life," says I, "but this is the lowest down I ever seen," says I.
"And Bonnie Bell," says I—she still had me around the neck, holding my arms down, and I didn't want to hurt her—"how'll I tell the old man? You know I've got to come through with him. You, the girl we loved so much, Bonnie Bell," says I, "we never thought you'd class yourself below your own level."
"She hasn't!" says he, right sudden then. "It wasn't her fault. She hasn't promised a thing to me, and you know that. She's not to blame for a thing, and you know that too. She hasn't said a word she couldn't say before all the world. What more do you want? She's too good a girl to get the worst of it. Her father's too good a man to get the worst of it too. She'd never let him."
"She won't have to do that," says I. "I'll take care of that. That's my business."
"Curly," says she, "what are you going to do? Don't you love my father at all—or me? You're like another father to me. And I've loved you; and I always will, whatever you do to me."
I couldn't put her arms down—I wasn't very strong, because I was thinking.