"Sometimes a very bitter thought comes to me—a sore thought—it is the sliver. I am not trying to be tactful now, just truthful. Tact and truth do not always combine naturally. This is one of the times. I am going to ask you something—but, don't speak until I am all done."
Here Pearl straightened her fine young shoulders, and her eyes grew very dark and luminous.
"Was it really because you think I am too young to know my own mind, that you spoke as you did, or is there another reason?"
She was looking into his eyes with such intensity, with such directness, that he knew he was going to tell her everything. It seemed as if she must read whatever was in his heart.
"My people are common, working people," she went on—and her head was held very high now, and her voice, all silver as it was, had an inner foundation of steel, like the famous silverware. "My people have always worked for a living. They are honest, kindly, honorable people, but they are what the vulgar would call—and do call—people who have no 'class.' My father eats with his knife; my mother does not know anything about having her subject and predicate agree in certain fine points in which subjects and predicates are supposed to agree. She knows how to work in harmony with her family and her neighbors, but her adjectives, verbs and nouns do sometimes tangle. I don't mind. These are small matters to me. I love my own people—admire and honor them."
Pearl's cheeks were flaming now.
"If you care greatly for these things—I know many do—and feel they are too serious, I want you to do something for me as my physician. You can do it with one word. It will hurt, but not for long. It will heal quickly. I will wash out the place with pride, and put on a bandage of the love I bear my own people. It will just be the first shock—there will be no after effects. Tell me the one word. Was it because—my father eats with his knife? Danny buried his face in your shoulder so he could not see. I will use a pillow—it is—more seemly. All right! Ready! Jerk!"
The pillow was thrown across the room, and Pearl found herself looking into his eyes, as he held her close.
"No, Pearl," he cried, "it is not that. I love you—more than all the world. I would marry you—if every relative you ever had had been hanged on the highest hill. There are no two people I know, to whom I would rather be related, than your father and mother. But there is a gap between us. I did not tell you the truth that day, because I felt it was more honorable to hide it. But I will tell you everything now."
When he was done, Pearl's eyes were soft and tender, and her arms tightened around him.