mighty good frien's, jes' like you par an' marse, an' David an' Jonadab. Dey use ter come here an' stay a week—yo' mar come in de kerridge wid Miss 'Lizbeth an' Marse Miles, an' yaller Betsy—she was a likely nigger, but a dretful sinner,—an' you on a little pony ridin' by yo' par's side. Lordy how you did useter tease Miss Livy an' dem chillen! Some times you mek Miss Livy cry—an' cry, an' de tears wuz like de waters o' Babylon."
"What a brute I must have been! Why didn't you or yellow Betsy get me a lathering?"
"Hi, Marse French, boys is boys. Dey c'yarn help bein' troublesome an' dirty an' teasin'. Gord done made 'em so." 'My people is rambunctious,' He say, an' I ain't never seen no boys 'cept what was dirty an' tormentin'."
At last, Pembroke felt he had no excuse for remaining longer at Isleham, and besides, he was seriously afraid of falling in love with Olivia. So he took his way back to Malvern.
While at Isleham, he had got one or two cocked-hatted notes from Madame Koller. But on reaching home he found that one arrived with great regularity every morning and occasionally during the day beside. The tenor of all was the same. Why did he not come to see his friend. She was so lonely. The country was triste at best. Pembroke felt very like asking her if the country was so triste then why did she not go away. But he was a gentleman as well as a man, and was patient with women even in their follies.
