“But how do you account for it?”
“O man, man!” said Belle, bursting into tears, “for what purpose do you ask a poor ignorant girl such a question, unless it be to vex and irritate her? If you wish to display your learning, do so to the wise and instructed, and not to me, who can scarcely read or write. Oh, leave off your nonsense; yet I know you will not do so, for it is the breath of your nostrils! I could have wished we should have parted in kindness, but you will not permit it. I have deserved better at your hands than such treatment. The whole time we have kept company together in this place, I have scarcely had one kind word from you, but the strangest—” and here the voice of Belle was drowned in her sobs.
“I am sorry to see you take on so, dear Belle,” said I. “I really have given you no cause to be so unhappy; surely teaching you a little Armenian was a very innocent kind of diversion.”
“Yes, but you went on so long, and in such a strange way, and made me repeat such strange examples, as you call them, that I could not bear it.”
“Why, to tell you the truth, Belle, it’s just my way; and I have dealt with you just as I would with—”
“A hard-mouthed jade,” said Belle, “and you practising your horse-witchery upon her. I have been of an unsubdued spirit, I acknowledge, but I was always kind to you; and if you have made me cry, it’s a poor thing to boast of.”
“Boast of!” said I; “a pretty thing indeed to boast of; I had no idea of making you cry. Come, I beg your pardon; what more can I do? Come, cheer up, Belle. You were talking of parting; don’t let us part, but depart, and that together.”
“Our ways lie different,” said Belle.
“I don’t see why they should,” said I. “Come, let us be off to America together.”
“To America together?” said Belle, looking full at me.