“Ye don't understand? Honest?”
“No, honest,” he said.
“Ye're stupid with women, Joe. Ye didn't see what the girl did to me! 'Twas some kind of a bug I was to her. She was not sure if I was the kind that bites, but she took no chances—she threw me off, like that.” And Mary snapped her hand, as one does when troubled with a bug.
“Ah, now!” pleaded Hal. “You're not being fair!”
“I'm bein' just as fair as I've got it in me to be, Joe. I been off and had it all out. I can see this much—'tis not her fault, maybe—'tis her class; 'tis all of ye—the very best of ye, even yeself, Joe Smith!”
“Yea,” he replied, “Tim Rafferty said that.”
“Tim said too much—but a part of it was true. Ye think ye've come here and been one of us workin' people. But don't your own sense tell you the difference, as if it was a canyon a million miles across—between a poor ignorant creature in a minin' camp, and a rich man's daughter, a lady? Ye'd tell me not to be ashamed of poverty; but would ye ever put me by the side of her—for all your fine feelin's of friendship for them that's beneath ye? Didn't ye show that at the Minettis'?”
“But don't you see, Mary—” He made an effort to laugh. “I got used to obeying Jessie! I knew her a long time before I knew you.”
“Ah, Joe! Ye've a kind heart, and a pleasant way of speakin'. But wouldn't it interest ye to know the real truth? Ye said ye'd come out here to learn the truth!”
And Hal answered, in a low voice, “Yes,” and did not interrupt again.