"Beautifully read, Hulda! I never go to such places as theatres, but you might be, I should say, an actress. Don't think of it, however! Very unconservative profession! I take great pride in you, my lovely girl; suppose I take you home with me!"
He walked to her stool, and laid his warm hand on her neck, standing behind her; she did not move nor change color.
"Something has happened to me, Colonel McLane," Hulda spoke, clear as a bell out of a prison, "to make even Johnson's Cross Roads good and happy. Can you guess what it is?"
She bent her head back, and looked up fearlessly at him, as if he were the negro now.
"Not religious ecstasy?" he said. "Not camp-meeting or revival conversion, I hope. That's vile."
"No, Colonel. It is knowing a pure young man, whose love for me is natural and unselfish."
"Great God!" spoke McLane, removing his hand. "Not some kidnapper?"
"No," Hulda said, "no slave-dealer of any kind. They cannot make him so. He is perfectly conservative, Colonel, as to that vileness. I believe he is a gentleman, too."
"You must have great experience in that article," he sneered, looking angry at her.
"I have seen you and my lover; you have the best clothes, and profess more. He has a nature that your opportunities would bring real refinement from. He respects me, wretched as I am; I read it in his eyes. You are looking for a way to degrade me in my own feelings, yet to deceive me. Can you be a gentleman?"