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 “I think it lovely of you to come.” He was disgusted with the triteness of this remark, but he could think of nothing else.

“I don't know,” demurred the octoroon, with her faint doubtful smile. “Persons don't welcome beggars very cordially.”

“If all beggars were so charming—” Apparently he couldn't escape banalities.

But Cissie interrupted whatever speech he meant to make, with a return of her almost painful seriousness.

“I really came to ask you to help me, Peter.”

“Then your need has brought me a pleasure, at least.” Some impulse kept the secretary making those foolish complimentary speeches which keep a conversation empty and insincere.

“Oh, Peter, I didn't come here for you to talk like that! Will you do what I want?”

“What do you want, Cissie?” he asked, sobered by her voice and manner.

“I want you to help me, Peter.”

“All right, I will.” He spaced his words with his speculations about the nature of her request. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to help me go away.”

Peter looked at her in surprise. He hardly knew what he had been expecting, but it was not this.

Some repressed emotion crept into the girl's voice.

“Peter, I—I can't stay here in Hooker's Bend any longer. I want to go away. I—I've got to go away.”