"I cried meself to sleep THAT night, I did. An' many a night, too, on that steamer."
"I didn't want to come here—that I didn't. I only did it to please me father. He thought it 'ud be for me good."
"An' I wish I hadn't come—that I do. He's missin' me every minnit—an' I'm missin' him. An' I'm not goin' to be happy here, ayther."
"I don't want to be a lady. An' they won't make me one ayther if I can help it. 'Ye can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear,' that's what me father always said. An' that's what I am. I'm a sow's ear."
She stopped,—her eyes fixed on the ground.
Jerry was more than moved at this entirely human and natural outbreak. It was even as looking into some one's heart and brain and hearing thoughts spoken aloud and seeing the nervous workings of the heart. When she described herself in such derogatory terms, a smile of relief played on Jerry's face as he leaned over to her and said:
"I'm afraid I cannot agree with you."
She looked up at him and said indifferently: "It doesn't make the slightest bit of difference to me whether ye do or not. That's what I am. I'm a sow's ear."
He reasoned with her:
"When the strangeness wears off you'll be very happy."