"It's to get away from Hooker's Bend, Cissie—to get you away. I don't like for you to stay here. It's all so—" he broke off, not caring to open the disagreeable subject.
The girl sat staring down at some fagots smoldering on the hearth. At that moment they broke into flame and illuminated her sad face.
"You'll go, won't you?" asked Peter at last, with a faint uncertainty.
The girl looked up.
"Oh—I—I'd be glad to, Peter,"—she gave a little shiver. "Ugh! this Niggertown is a—a terrible place!"
Peter leaned over, took one of her hands, and patted it.
"Then we'll go," he said soothingly. "It's decided—tomorrow. And we'll have a perfectly lovely wedding trip," he planned cheerfully, to draw her mind from her mood. "On the car going North I'll get a whole drawing-room. I've always wanted a drawing-room, and you'll be my excuse. We'll sit and watch the fields and woods and cities slip past us, and know, when we get off, we can walk on the streets as freely as anybody. We'll be a genuine man and wife."
His recital somehow stirred him. He took her in his arms, pressed her cheek to his, and after a moment kissed her lips with the trembling ardor of a bridegroom.
Cissie remained passive a moment, then put up he hands, turned his face away, and slowly released herself.
Peter was taken aback.