“I has got a blow,” said Nat Carter. “You’re right, Jill. I don’t know yer all round. I has promised to wed yer, and I’ll stick to it, if you’re o’ that mind. God forgive you, Jill, you’re not what I thought, but I’ll be a good husband to yer, if yer wishes it.”
“Do I wish it?” said Jill with sudden scorn and passion. “Let the righteous wed with the righteous, and the sinner with the sinner. I’m as God made me; I’m full of passion, and I’m full of weakness. You’re white, and I’m black; but, Nat, where I loves I don’t see the sin. Ef you were as black as a coal, Nat, and loved me, I’d love you back again. Oh me, me, my heart’s broke, but I can’t never, never be yer mate now, Nat Carter.”
“And yet it seemed all right last night,” said the young man.
“No. I had my doubts last night, and now they’re certainties. I doubted then as you was too high, and me too low for us to come together, now my doubts is turned to certainties. Good-bye, Nat, good-bye; choose a gel that never telled a lie, what would scorn to steal, and what wouldn’t touch a drop o’ beer to save her life; good-bye, Nat.”
“Good-bye,” said Nat. He took up his hat in earnest this time. Jill’s words had frozen him. There was a numbness all over him, which prevented his feeling the real agony of the parting; he turned the handle of the room door and went out. Jill listened to his footsteps going down the stairs, till they died away in the distance.
Chapter Thirteen.
Susy Carter was one of those self-reliant people who are not over-troubled with conscience. Her nerves were in excellent order. She did not consider herself vain, but she was thoroughly satisfied with her life, with her ways, with her ideas. She utterly scorned the flower girls who did not live up to the high standard which she had set herself. Had Susy been born in a different station of life, she would have gone in for the education craze, for the women’s suffrage question, and for all those extreme ideas of so-called emancipation which agitated the breasts of the sterner members of her sex.