"Don't bother, Mammy—I am not going to hear him speak—I don't think I could bear it."
"Yer not gwine heah de Marser speak?" Dicey stared at her, her countenance eloquent of dismay. "Yer not gwine heah him!" she reiterated, her voice rising to a higher pitch.
"No," Natalia answered, meeting the angry eyes sadly. "I can't do it, Mammy."
"An' he cum all dis way jes' fer yer, and dat de way yer gwine treat him! I calls hit er bu'nin' shame!"
The old slave's temper gained control of her, and in her impatience she frowned darkly upon Natalia.
"He will never know, Mammy." She questioned the words as she spoke them. "He would not see me if I were there."
"He'd see yer and he'd know ef yer wuzn' dar. Ef yer don' go, I'se gwine back ter him."
"You can't go back to him, Mammy. You belong to me, now."
"Cose I does, honey." Dicey's voice softened as her anger ebbed.
"But I wants yer ter go. He wants yer ter go, too, I know he does."