I tell him he big fool to tink like dat of me.

I tell him go vay an' find voman of his own race--good voman.

I tell him eet could nevah be me, no, nevah." "Then you do not love him ?" The puzzled dancer hesitated, her long lashes lowered, and outlined against her cheeks.
"Lofe?
Dat vas not nice vord as eet come to me.

I know not ver' vell just vat.

Maybe if I not lofe him I marry him--si; I no care den.