She paused for a reply or a question. Receiving neither, she walked with dignity up the stairs. From her window she could see Cresswell‚Äôs straight shoulders, as he rode toward town, and beyond him a black speck in the road. But she could not see the smile on Mr. ¬ÝCresswell‚Äôs lips, nor did she hear him remark twice, with seeming irrelevance, ‚ÄúThe devil!‚Äù
The rider, being closer to it, recognized in Mary Taylor‚Äôs ‚Äúblack speck‚Äù Bles Alwyn walking toward him rapidly with axe and hoe on shoulder, whistling merrily. They saw each other almost at the same moment and whistle and smile faded. Mr. ¬ÝCresswell knew the Negro by sight and disliked him. He belonged in his mind to that younger class of half-educated blacks who were impudent and disrespectful toward their superiors, not even touching his hat when he met a white man. Moreover, he was sure that it was Miss Taylor with whom this boy had been talking so long and familiarly in the cotton-field last Spring‚ÅÝ‚Äîan offence doubly heinous now that he had seen Miss Taylor.
His first impulse was to halt the Negro then and there and tell him a few plain truths. But he did not feel quarrelsome at the moment, and there was, after all, nothing very tangible to justify a berating. The fellow’s impudence was sure to increase, and then! So he merely reined his horse to the better part of the footpath and rode on.