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Updated: June 8, 2025
Being too much a gentleman to dispute his mistress' word, Constantine merely shook his head and smiled broadly. "She fine lady," he acknowledged. "She got plenty nice dress silik." "Yes, silk." "She more han'somer than you be," he added, with reluctant candor. "Mebbe that's lie 'bout Mr. Marsh, eh? White men all work for Mr. Marsh. He no work for nobody." "No, it is true. Mr.
I never see anything han'somer, an' it looked swell on me. I put it on jus' once for a minute. It didn't give me no pleasure, though. I felt jus' sneaky an' mean. After that I put it away. Once in a while I took a look at it. Then my little girl got a bad cold. She was awful sick. I forgot all about the sack. She pretty near died. I sat up with her nights for quite a while.
"It's me," she cried in a low, eager voice. "Me! Do I look like that thar? Do I?" "You look as that would look if it had color, and was more complete." She glanced up at him sharply. "D'ye mean if it was han'somer?" He was tempted into adding to her excitement with a compliment. "Yes," he said, "very much handsomer than I could ever hope to make it." A slow, deep red rose to her face.
"She's innocent as a kitten," observed Mrs. Day impartially. "Oh, yes, she's innocent enough an' I hope she'll keep so! Waitstill's a sight han'somer, if the truth was told; but she's the sort of girl that's made for one man and the rest of em never look at her. The other one's cut out for the crowd, the more the merrier. She's a kind of man-trap, that girl is!
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