Peter hesitated, and was about to go away when Cissie's voice came from an inner room, telling her mother to admit him.
The yellow woman glanced at the door on the left side of the hall, crossed over and opened it, stood to one side while Peter entered, and closed it after him, leaving the two alone.
The room into which Peter stepped was dark, after the fashion of negro houses. Only after a moment's survey did he see Cissie sitting near a big fireplace made of rough stone. The girl started to rise as Peter advanced toward her, but he solicitously forbade it and hurried over to her. When he leaned over her and put his arms about her, his ardor was slightly dampened when she gave him her cheek instead of her lips to kiss.
“Surely, you're not too ill to be kissed?” he rallied faintly.
“You kissed me. I thought we had agreed, Peter, you were not to come in the daytime any more.”
“Oh, is that it?” Peter patted her shoulder, cheerfully. “Don't worry; I have just removed any reason why I shouldn't come any time I want to.”
Cissie looked at him, her dark eyes large in the gloom.
“What have you done?”
“Got a preacher to marry us; on my way now for a license. Dropped in to ask if you 'll be ready by tomorrow or next day.”
The girl gasped.
