After all, which was worse‚ÅÝ‚Äîa Cresswell or an Alwyn? It was no sin that Alwyn had done; it was simply ignorant presumption, and she must correct him firmly, but gently, like a child. What a crazy muddle the world was! She thought of Harry Cresswell and the tale he told her in the swamp. She thought of the flitting ghosts that awful night in Washington. She thought of Miss Wynn who had jilted Alwyn and given her herself a very bad quarter of an hour. What a world it was, and after all how far was this black boy wrong? Just then Colonel Cresswell rode up behind and greeted her.
She started almost guiltily, and again a sense of the awkwardness of her position reddened her face and neck. The Colonel dismounted, despite her protest, and walked beside her. They chatted along indifferently, of the crops, her brother’s new baby, the proposed mill.
“Mary,” his voice abruptly struck a new note. “I don’t like the way you talk with that Alwyn nigger.”
She was silent.
‚ÄúOf course,‚Äù he continued, ‚Äúyou‚Äôre Northern born and you have been a teacher in this school and feel differently from us in some ways; but mark what I say, a nigger will presume on the slightest pretext, and you must keep them in their place. Then, too, you are a Cresswell now‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
She smiled bitterly; he noticed it, but went on:
‚ÄúYou are a Cresswell, even if you have caught Harry up to some of his deviltry,‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe started‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúand got miffed about it. It‚Äôll all come out right. You‚Äôre a Cresswell, and you must hold yourself too high to ‚ÄòMister‚Äô a nigger or let him dream of any sort of equality.‚Äù