“I want you to understand, sir. I’ve been thinkin’ and thinkin’ of all you said yesterday, and I see, sir, as how you haven’t a mite o’ love for me, and it makes me feel cold all over like——”
“Oh, why do you want love? It is something so vulgar, so unspiritual, so indicative of an unoccupied mind! I have the highest respect for you, which I am about to prove in the strongest manner that any man can prove his sentiments——”
“Yes, I know, sir; but—but——”
“But there are finer sentiments than love!”
“Perhaps there are, sir, for the quality. But love’s poor people’s feast; the only one they ever knows all their days. And—you—don’t love me?”
She looks at him fixedly.
He is embarrassed.
“Should I have given you my mother’s pearls if I did not?”
“You haven’t giv’ ’em, and I haven’t took ’em. Some other than me ’ll wear ’em. I came to say to you, Mr. Bertram, that I won’t never marry you. Mother says as ’ow you’ve come into a great fortune; but, whether you’re rich or poor, that’s nothing to me. I won’t marry you, ’cos we’d be miserable; and that’s what I come here all alone to-day to say to you.”
“You are faithless, Annie!”