Andy walled his eyes at her uneasily, and she continued:
"But I likes ter hear ye talk humble dat a way—hit's a good sign."
He shook his head impatiently:
"But ye don't know what I means!"
"Why, of cose, I does!" she replied genially. "I always knowed dat I wuz high above ye. I'se black, but I'se pure ez de drivellin' snow. I always knowed, honey, dat ye wern't my equal. But ye can't help dat. I'se er born 'ristocrat. My mudder was er African princess. My grandmudder wuz er queen—an' I'se er cook!"
Andy stamped his foot with angry impatience;
"Yassam—but ye git dat all wrong!"
"Cose, you' Minerva understan's when ye comes along side er yo' true love dat ye feels humble——"
"Nobum! Nobum!" he broke in emphatically—"ye got dat all wrong—all wrong!" He paused, drew a chair to the table and motioned her to a seat opposite.
"Des lemme tell ye now," he continued with determined kindness. "Ye see I got ter 'fess de whole truf ter you. Tain't right ter fool ye."