The minister uncovered his eyes and looked at her. The expression of his face must have been less forbidding, for she moved confidently nearer to him.
“What do you think now?” she asked.
His voice was husky.
“You spoke of marrying some one.”
She shook her head.
“No. Some one want marry wiz me. I doan desire. But sinz he want, my honorable mother-in-law is mos’ kind unto me, and I doan starve no more. Therefore I doan wan no moaney—be convert now.”
“Ah, why do you keep up the pretense, then?”
“Pretense?” She could not understand the word, as her English vocabulary was limited to words acquired from the minister’s predecessor, a woman missionary.
“Why do you still pretend to be a Christian? Why do you continue to come here if it is no longer necessary for you to obtain money?”
“Because,” said Azalea, smiling up at him, “I want do so. Also, I kinnod stay away. My august feet bringing me back all those times.”