“Thank you, Yola! but I shouldn’t particularly desire to be the object of such universal admiration. For my part, I don’t know one male biped in whose eyes I care to appear attractive.”
“Perhaps missa no so say, when come young buckra from Inglis’ country!”
“Which buckra?—there are two of them expected from the English country.”
“Yola no hear two come. Massa she hear speak of one—only one.”
“Oh, you’ve heard speak of one only! Did you hear his name mentioned?”
“Yes; he grand man—great lord—Sultan of Mongew. He have other name—Yola hear it; but she no sabbey speak it.”
“Ha! ha! ha! I don’t wonder at that. It’s as much as I ‘sabbey’ myself to pronounce that second name: which I presume to be Smythje. Is that the name you heard?”
“That it, missa—he berry fine gentl’man, he beauty man. Massa he so tell Massr’ Trusty.”
“Ah, Yola! your master is a man, and men are not always the best judges of one another’s looks. Perhaps the Sultan of Mongew, as you call him, might not be such a pattern of perfection as papa describes him. But no doubt, we shall soon have an opportunity of judging for ourselves. Did you hear your master say nothing about another ‘buckra’ that is expected?”
“No, Missa Kate. One only he speak of—dis same one of Mongew Castle.”