“I don’t understand,” he stammered. “I don’t understand.—Is our new-found happiness to be wrecked by such nonsense? Effie, think—think the thing over. What do you care what people say? You have your hole, you can creep into it whenever you like, and if you go down far enough, you won’t hear a syllable.”
Effie smiled a sad, superior smile.
“Bobbie, you don’t understand. I have my own views in the matter.—Besides, there’s something else. You have been exceedingly indelicate. You took advantage of my ignorance. You let me think you were a rose-beetle and yesterday the snail told me you are a tumble-bug. A considerable difference! He saw you engaged in—well, doing something I don’t care to mention. I’m sure you will now admit that I must take back my word.”
Bobbie was stunned. When he recovered from the shock he burst out angrily:
“No, I don’t understand. I can’t understand. I want to be loved for myself, and not for my business.”
“If only it weren’t dung,” said Effie offishly, “anything but dung, I shouldn’t be so particular.—And please remember, I’m a young widow who lost her husband only three days ago under the most tragic circumstances—he was gobbled up by the shrewmouse—and it isn’t proper for me to be gadding about. A young widow should lead a life of complete retirement. So—good-by.”
Pop into her hole went Effie, as though a puff of wind had blown her away. Maya would never have thought it possible that anyone could dive into the ground as fast as that.
Effie was gone, and Bobbie stared in blank bewilderment down the empty dark opening, looking so utterly stupid that Maya had to laugh.
Finally he roused, and shook his small round head in angry distress. His feelers drooped dismally like two rain-soaked fans.
“People now-a-days no longer appreciate fineness of character and respectability,” he sighed. “Effie is heartless. I didn’t dare admit it to myself, but she is, she’s absolutely heartless. But even if she hasn’t got the right feelings, she ought to have the good sense to be my wife.”