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 sophically. "It takes time and patience to prove that. Still what's she like?"

"She's a southern girl, whose family can be traced back generations and generations; to old Colonial days; to old slavery days," Bennet answered proudly.

"What! You don't mean to say she's a southern white girl?"

"Yes."

The elder man shook his head solemnly and sadly as he exclaimed, "Poor boy! Poor boy! Impossible! Impossible!"

"What's impossible about that?"

"Everything," he exclaimed hopelessly. "Everything. Forget it. Don't think of such a thing. You're dooming yourself.—You'll be throwing your life away. Don't think of it. I've brought you up—you and your sister—in an atmosphere and midst environments where you would not be brought into contact with such a thing. I did this for your best. You don't know what prejudice is. You don't know what you are planning for yourself.

"Forget it, Boy. Forget her. There are estimable girls up here in this section who would make you an excellent wife, and a charming daughter for me and your mother; one that we could welcome into the family with pride and with loving hearts. We can't do that with this girl. Besides, there are white girls of the colored race, fully as charming, intelligent and beautiful as any white girl in the south. You could be happy with one of them. You will never be with this girl. Besides you will never marry her.