“What difference will it make?” “I couldn't.” “Why couldn't you?” “Because—” “That's because you've been to Nashville.” “Oh, well—” A chair was moved over a bare floor. A little later footsteps came to the entrance, the door opened, and Cissie's withered yellow mother stood before him.
Vannie offered her hand and inquired after Peter's health with a stopped voice that instantly recalled his mother's death. After the necessary moment of talk, the mulatto inquired for Cissie.
The yellow woman seemed slightly ill at ease.
“Cissie ain't so well, Peter.”
“She's not ill?”
“N-no; but the excitement an' ever'thing—” answered Vannie, vaguely.
In the flush of his plans, Peter was keenly disappointed.
“It's very important, Mrs. Dildine.”
Vannie's dried yellow face framed the ghost of a smile.
“Ever'thing a young man's got to say to a gal is ve'y important, Peter.”
It seemed to Peter a poor time for a jest; his face warmed faintly.
“It—it's about some of the details of our—our wedding.”
“If you'll excuse her to-day, Peter, an' come after supper—”
