“Just say you do,” I pleaded, “to save me pain.”
“I will not tell you otherwise.”
I was near enough to feel her tremble––to see her red lips draw away, in stern conviction, from her white little teeth.
“You do not care?” I asked her.
“I do not care.”
’Twas a shock to hear the words repeated. “Not care!” I cried out.
“I do not care,” says she, turning, all at once, from the sullen crimson of the sky, to reproach me. “Why should I care?” she demanded. “I have never cared––never cared––about your foot!”
I should have adored her for this: but did not know enough.
“Come!” says she, rising; “there is no sunset now. ’Tis all over with. The clouds have lost their glory. There is nothing to see. Oh, Dannie, lad,” says 273 she––“Dannie, boy, there is nothing here to see! We must go home.”
I was cast down.