I make him to suffer, but not care; ees eet not so?
Anyhow, I--vat you call dat ?--respect dis Senor Brown mooch, ver' mooch.

Maybe dat last longer as lofe--_quien sabe_ ?" Scarcely comprehending this peculiar explanation, Beth Norvell's first conception was that the girl had chosen wrong, that she had allied herself upon the side of evil.
"You mean you--you will go back to Biff Farnham ?" she asked, her tone full of horror.
Mercedes straightened up quickly, her young, expressive face filled with a new passion, which struggled almost vainly for utterance through her lips.
"Go back to dat man!" she panted.

"Me?
_Sapristi_! and you tink I do dat after Senor Brown ask me be hees vife! Blessed Mary! vat you tink I am?
You tink I not feel, not care?
I go back to dat Farnham?
Eet vould not be, no! no! I tol' him dat mooch, an' he got mad.

I no care, I like dat.

I no lofe him, nevah; I vas sold to him for money, like sheep, but I learn to hate him to kill." The deep glow of the black eyes softened, and her head slowly dropped until it touched the other's extended arm.