Perhaps there was something of this in his face. "I thought yo' were
looking a little white, co'nnle," she said quietly, "and I reckoned
we might sit down a spell, and then take it slowly home. Yo' ain't
accustomed to the So'th'n sun, and the air in the hollow WAS swampy." As
he made a slight gesture of denial, she went on with a pretty sisterly
superiority: "That's the way of yo' No'th'n men. Yo' think yo' can
do everything just as if yo' were reared to it, and yo' never make
allowance for different climates, different blood, and different
customs. That's where yo' slip up."

But he was already leaning towards her with his dark earnest eyes fixed
upon her in a way she could no longer mistake. "At the risk of slipping
up again, Miss Dows," he said gently, dropping into her dialect with
utterly unconscious flattery, "I am going to ask you to teach me
everything YOU wish, to be all that YOU demand--which would be far
better. You have said we were good friends; I want you to let me hope to
be more. I want you to overlook my deficiencies and the differences of
my race and let me meet you on the only level where I can claim to be
the equal of your own people--that of loving you. Give me only the same
chance you gave the other poor fellow who sleeps yonder--the same chance
you gave the luckier man who carried the wreath for you to put upon his
grave."

She had listened with delicately knitted brows, the faintest touch of
color, and a half-laughing, half-superior disapprobation. When he had
finished, she uttered a plaintive little sigh. "Yo' oughtn't to have
said that, co'nnle, but yo' and me are too good friends to let even THAT
stand between us. And to prove it to yo' I'm going to forget it right
away--and so are yo'."