You ask me if I love
you. If I did--do you think it would be true
love in me to tell you so, when I know what it
would cost you? Oh indeed you must never
marry _me_! In your own country you would
never have heard of me--never seen me--surely
never written me such a letter to tell me that you
love me and want to marry me. It is not that I
am ashamed of my business or of the folks around
me, or ashamed that I am only the charity child
of two poor players, who lived and died working
for the bread for their mouths and mine. I am
proud of them--yes, proud of what they did and
suffered for one poorer than themselves--a little
foundling out of an Indian camp. But I know
the difference between you and me. You are a
great man at home--you have never told me how
great--but I know your father is a rich lord, and I
suppose you are. It is not that I think _you_ care
for that, or think less of me because I was born
different from you. I know how good--how
kind--how _respectful_ you have always been to
me--_my lord_--and I shall never forget it--for a girl
in my position knows well enough how you might
have been otherwise.
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