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 “Oh, she has a right to be,” began Peter, defensively. “I ought to have read that deed. It's amazing I didn't, but I—I really wasn't expecting a trick, Mr. Hooker seemed so—so sympathetic—” He came to a lame halt, staring at the dust through which they picked their way.

“Of course you weren't expecting tricks!” cried Cissie, warmly. “The whole thing shows you're a gentleman used to dealing with gentlemen. But of course these Hooker's Bend negroes will never see that!”

Peter, surprised and grateful, looked at Cissie. Her construction of the swindle was more flattering than any apology he had been able to frame for himself.

“Still, Cissie, I ought to have used the greatest care—”

“I'm not talking about what you 'ought,'” stated the octoroon, crisply; “I'm talking about what you are. When it comes to 'ought,' we colored people must get what we can, any way we can. We fight from the bottom.” The speech held a viperish quality which for a moment caught the brown man's attention; then he said:

“One thing is sure, I've lost my prestige, whatever it was worth.”

The girl nodded slowly.

“With the others you have, I suppose.”

Peter glanced at Cissie. The temptation was strong