"If you won't take it from me"-- he hesitated as she made no reply--"Athley'th flush and ready to lend you thome." She had not seemed to hear him, but had stooped in some embarrassment, picked up the knife and hastily hid it, then with averted face and nervous fingers was beginning to tear strips of loose bark from the nearest trunk.
"Well, what do you thay ?" "I don't want any money, and I shall stay here." She hesitated, looked around her, and then added, with an effort, "I suppose you meant well.
Be it so! Let bygones be by-gones.

You said just now, 'It's the same old Teresa.' So she is, and seeing she's the same she's better here than anywhere else." There was enough bitterness in her tone to call for Curson's half-perfunctory sympathy.
"That be d----d," he responded quickly.

"Jutht thay you'll come, Tita, and"-- She stopped his half-spoken sentence with a negative gesture.

"You don't understand.

I shall stay here." "But even if they don't theek you here, you can't live here forever.
The friend that you wrote about who wath tho good to you, you know, can't keep you here alwayth; and are you thure you can alwayth trutht her ?" "It isn't a woman; it's a man." She stopped short, and colored to the line of her forehead.