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Updated: July 18, 2025
She came up to the Dower House with a white, scared face. "I've come up for the letters," she said. "There's bad news of Teddy, and Letty's rather in a state." "He's not ?" Mr. Britling left the word unsaid. "He's wounded and missing," said Cissie. "A prisoner!" said Mr. Britling. "And wounded. How, we don't know." She added: "Letty has gone to telegraph." "Telegraph to whom?"
"Yes, sir." The negro's tone and attitude reminded the Captain that the supper gong would soon sound and they would best separate at once. "It it's about Cissie Dildine," the old lawyer hurried on. Peter nodded slightly. "Yes, you mentioned that before." The old man lifted a thin hand as if to touch Peter's arm, but he did not. A sort of desperation seized him.
Now, in regard to Cissie Dildine, Peter was not precisely afraid of Tump Pack, but he could not clear his mind of the fact that Tump had been presented with a medal by the Congress of the United States for killing four men. Good sense and a care for his reputation and his skin told Peter to abandon his theory of free courtship for the time being.
The semi-daily passings of Cissie Dildine before the old Renfrew manor on her way to and from the Arkwright home upset Peter Siner's working schedule to an extraordinary degree. After watching for two or three days, Peter worked out a sort of time- table for Cissie. She passed up early in the morning, at about five forty-five.
A nigger, a thief; and she would never be otherwise. It was all so hopeless, so unchangeable, that Peter walked down the bleak street unutterably depressed There was nothing he could do. The situation was static. It seemed best that he should go away North and save his own skin. It was impossible to take Cissie with him.
These titles were not only picked out in shaded Gothic on the garden gates, but appeared a second time on the porches, where they followed the semicircular curve of the entrance arch in block capitals. "Albert" was inhabited. His tortured garden was bright with geraniums and lobelias and polished shells. His little windows were chastely swathed in Nottingham lace. "Cissie" was to let.
He looked again at the Arkwright house. The thought of walking down the street with Cissie, to get his books, quickened his heart. He was still at the window when his door opened and old Rose entered with his dinner. She growled under her breath all the way from the door to the table on which she placed the tray.
Peter was tempted to stand perfectly still and wait till his mother dozed again, thus putting off her inevitable tirade against Cissie; but he answered in a low tone that it was he. "Whut you gwine do wid dat lamp, son?" "Go to bed by it, Mother." "Well, bring hit back." She breathed heavily, and moved restlessly in the old four-poster.
The scene suggested a Swiss Alp rather than the shrine and centre of a leisured world, and was marred only by two ugly little villas the villas that had competed with Cecil's engagement, having been acquired by Sir Harry Otway the very afternoon that Lucy had been acquired by Cecil. "Cissie" was the name of one of these villas, "Albert" of the other.
Peter's prolonged silence aroused certain suspicions in the old negress. She glanced at her son out of the tail of her eyes. "Cissie Dildine is Tump Pack's gal," she stated defensively, with the jealousy all mothers feel toward all sons. A diversion in the shouts of the children up the mean street and a sudden furious barking of dogs drew Peter from the discussion.
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