"I don't think so," retorted Isabella, rising. "Of course, I know that he is clever, but as to being great, he isn't known beyond this place." She walked to the end of the veranda, and stood for a moment in the glare of the sunshine. Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her, and she turned toward the negress.
"Dido, you wouldn't like to see me the wife of Dr. Etwald?"
"Yes, missy. Him berry big great man!"
"But I hate him!"
"Um! He lub you. He told ole Dido so."
"He seems to have been very confidential," said Isabella, scornfully, "and from what I have seen, Dido, he has some influence over you."
"No," said the negress. But while her tongue uttered the denial, her eyes rolled uneasily around the lawn, as though dreading some invisible presence. "No, missy. Dido a great one, you know. She no 'fraid ob dat doctor; but him big man, missy; you marry him."
"No, no, no! I would rather die. I love Maurice."
"You nebber marry him, missy. Nebber, nebber!"
"How do you know?"