Their marriage had elements of a business-power arrangement, although the young woman was certainly pretty, almost beautiful; and she had been educated. She was from Savannah. Her mother was dark brown and married to a man as near black as a man can be. Dorothy was a sallow, coffee-with-milk color, and it was known that her father was a married white banker. He had seen to her mother’s marriage and subsequent prosperity, and he had arranged for Dorothy’s education. He had conceived a strong affection for the girl when she was still a small child, had even entertained a romantic dream of sending her North to live and be educated, where she might one day make a sensible and dignified marriage.

But the girl was delicate—or such was the reason given for the fact that any plan to educate her along ambitious lines was doomed to failure because she did not have the character and mental capacity to flourish and grow in an intellectual way.

Roscoe, who knew the white father, having dealt with him in Savannah for several years, knew the truth about the mulatto child. She was sometimes even brought to the bank by her mother to see her true father and had been there one day when Roscoe was closeted with the man on business. Roscoe began to think of the possible advantages of marriage between Junior and the young girl. He waited to suggest the matter until he knew the father to be sufficiently discouraged with his own dream of his daughter’s future and imagined he might welcome a safe and respectable alliance for the girl. And so it turned out. Junior was quick to see the possibilities of the union in his future dealings in Savannah; and Dorothy was compliant even to weakness. They were married in Savannah, an occasion not attended by Clovis. Junior brought her home. She bore two children in three years, a girl who died before she was a year old, and a boy they named Roscoe. The fat solemn baby looked shrewd in his grandfather’s way even in his cradle.

Clovis had been left very much to herself. No one consulted her about anything to do with the farm, because she was so often vague and weak with drinking. Having once tried to reform her with his fists, Roscoe now left her alone. He didn’t want her in town. He gave her just enough money to keep her in whiskey. He had tried denying her that, but she would sell or bargain anything she could lay her hands on in order to buy her pacifier.