“Well, I tole you it feel I kud eat de fella.”
“Oh! that is very absurd. You must be jesting, Sabby? I’m sure I don’t feel that way.”
“Den how, Missa?”
“Well, I should like him to be always with me, and nobody else near. And I should like him to be always talking to me; I listening and looking at him; especially into his eyes. He has such beautiful eyes. And they looked so beautiful to-day, when I met him in the wood! We were alone. It was the first time. How much pleasanter it was than to be among so many people! I wish papa’s guests would all go away, and leave only him. Then we could be always together alone.”
“Why, Missa, who you talk ’bout? Massa Cudamore?”
“No—no. Not Frank. He might go with the rest. I don’t care for his staying.”
“Who den?”
“Oh, Sabby, you know? You should know.”
“Maybe Sabby hab a ’spicion. P’raps she no far ’stray to tink it am de gen’lum dat Missa ’company home from de shootin’ cubbas.”
“Yes; it is he. I’m not afraid to tell you, Sabby.”