"You needn't bother."
He removed his, hat from his knee, uncrossed his legs and dropped the hat on the floor. He propped his hands on his knees and surveyed her, his head on one side.
"You don't know what you're refusing," he told her. "Marry me and you won't have to work like this. Nawsir. I'm a rich man, I am. Here, let's talk it over."
He rose to his feet and came toward her. She promptly reached behind her and possessed herself of the singing kettle.
"If you touch me," she said hysterically, "I'll douse you with boiling water!"
"There, there," he said, with a light laugh, "I didn't mean to scare you. Set the kettle down, there's a good girl."
But the good girl had other ideas. "You get out of here. I don't want you around."
Her show of temper caused his own to flare up. "There's no use for you to get mad. None a-tall. You act like I'd insulted you instead of doing you a honor."
At which her sense of humor came to her rescue and she laughed in his face. He picked up his hat and faced her, scowling.
"I ain't mad," he told her. "Not a bit. It don't pay to get mad with a woman. But I want you to know I'm comin' back for another answer. I ain't satisfied you mean 'no.' And, anyway, I want you, and I'm gonna have you. That's all there is to it. You think it over."