"I'm determined to git this settled one way or t'other," said Homer,
after a long pause. "Be you goin' to marry me?"

"Why do you want me?" Yvette asked, fixing her eyes on his face. "Is it
just because you think I'm pretty?"

He considered. It was a hard question for a young man not adept in the
use of words to answer. "'Tain't jest that," he said, finally. "I like
you bein' perty. But it's somethin' else. I hain't able to explain it,
exceptin' that I want you more'n I ever wanted anythin' in my life."

"Maybe, when I tell you about myself, you won't want me at all."

He paused again, while she studied his face anxiously.

"I dunno.... I--. Tell ye what. I want you like I know you. I'm
satisfied. I don't want you to tell me nothin'. I don't want to know
nothin'." He turned and looked with clumsy gravity into her eyes, which
did not waver. "Besides," he said, "I don't believe you got anythin'
discreditable to tell."

"I want to tell you."

"I don't want to hear," he said, simply. "I'd rather take you, jest
trustin' you and knowin' in my heart that you're good. Somehow I _know_
it."

She bit her lip, her eyes were moist, and she sat very still for a long
time; then she said, softly: "I didn't know men like that lived.... I