Beth Norvell

She released her clasp upon his arm, her eyes drooping behind their

long lashes, the merry laughter fading from her lips.

"Dat vas not von bit nice of you, señor. Vy you ever keep bodder me

so, ven I good to you? No, I tol' you not ask me dat so quick soon

again. Did I not do dis? I tol' you den I know not; I meet you only

de twice--how I lofe ven I meet you only de twice?"

"You 've m-m-met me as often a-as I h-h-have you," he interrupted, "an'

I kn-know I l-love you all right."

"Oh, dat vas diff'rent, ver' different," and she tripped back from him,

with a coquettish toss of the black head. "Vy not? of course. I vas

Mercedes--si; vas dat not enough? All de caballeros say dat to me;

dey say me ver' pretty girl. You tink dat too, señor?"

The perplexed Brown, fully conscious that his great strength was

useless here, looked an answer, although his lips merely sputtered in

vain attempt at speech.

"So; I read dat in de eyes. Den of course you lofe me. It vas de

nature. But vis me it vas not so easy; no, not near so easy. I tink

maybe you ver' nice man," she tipped it off upon her finger ends half

playfully, constantly flashing her eyes up into his puzzled face. "I

tink you ver' good man; I tink you ver' strong man; I tink maybe you be

ver' nice to Mercedes. 'T is for all dose tings dat I like you, señor,

like you ver' mooch; but lofe, dat means more as like, an' I know not

for sure. Maybe so, maybe not so; how I tell yet for true? I tink de

best ting be I not say eet, but just tink 'bout eet; just keep eet in

mine own heart till some odder time ven I sure know. Vas eet not so?"

Brown set his teeth half savagely, the little witch tantalizing him

with the swiftness of her speech, the coy archness of her manner. To

his slower mentality she was like a humming-bird darting about from

flower to flower, yet ever evading him.

"M-maybe yer think I ain't in e-e-earnest?" he persisted, doggedly.

"M-maybe yer imagine I d-did n't m-m-mean what I s-said when I asked

yer ter m-marry me?"

She glanced up quickly into his serious eyes, half shrinking away as if

she suddenly comprehended the dumb, patient strength of the man, his

rugged, changeless resolution. There was a bit of falter in the quick

response, yet this was lost to him.

"No, señor, I no make fun. I no dat kind. I do de right, dat all; I

do de right for both of us. I no vant to do de wrong. You

comprende, señor? Maybe you soon grow ver' tire Mercedes, she marry

you?"