"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.
"What _is_ the matter, Cissie?"
"I can't go, Peter.
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