He stooped and kissed her, tenderly, possessively. “I did—oh Angèle you are a beauty! Only a beauty can wear plain things like that. I did come in this morning but I’m trying to catch Kirby, my father’s lawyer, he ought to be coming in from Newark just now and I thought I’d take him down to Long Island with me for the night. I’ve got a lot of documents for him here in this suitcase—that Georgia business was most complicated—that way I won’t have to hunt him up in the morning and I’ll have more time to—to arrange for our trip in the afternoon. What are you doing here?”
What was she doing there? Waiting for her sister Jinny who was coloured and who showed it. And Roger hated Negroes. She was lost, ruined, unless she could get rid of him. She told the first lie that came into her mind.
“I’m waiting for Paulette.” All this could be fixed up with Paulette later. Miss Lister would think as little of deceiving a man, any man, as she would of squashing a mosquito. They were fair game and she would ask no questions.
His face clouded. “Can’t say I’m so wild about your waiting for Paulette. Well we can wait together—is she coming up from Philadelphia? That train’s bringing my man too from Newark.” He had the male’s terrible clarity of understanding for train connections.
“What time does your train go to Long Island? I thought you wanted to get the next one.”
“Well, I’d like to but they’re only half an hour apart. I can wait. Better the loss of an hour today than all of tomorrow morning. We can wait together; see the people are beginning to come up. I wish I could take you home but the minute he shows up I’ll have to sprint with him.”
“Now God be on my side,” she prayed. Sometimes these trains were very long. If Mr. Kirby were in the first car and Jinny toward the end that would make all of ten minutes’ difference. If only she hadn’t given those explicit directions!
There was Jinny, her head suddenly emerging into view above the stairs. She saw Angela, waved her hand. In another moment she would be flinging her arms about her sister’s neck; she would be kissing her and saying, “Oh, Angela, Angela darling!”
And Roger, who was no fool, would notice the name Angela—Angèle; he would know no coloured girl would make a mistake like this.
She closed her eyes in a momentary faintness, opened them again.
“What’s the matter?” said Roger sharply, “are you sick?”
Jinny was beside her. Now, now the bolt would fall. She heard the gay, childish voice saying laughingly, assuredly:
“I beg your pardon, but isn’t this Mrs. Henrietta Jones?”
Oh, God was good! Here was one chance if only Jinny would understand! In his astonishment Roger had turned from her to face the speaker. Angela, her eyes beseeching her sister’s from under her close hat brim, could only stammer the old formula: “Really you have the advantage of me. No, I’m not Mrs. Jones.”
Roger said rudely, “Of course she isn’t Mrs. Jones. Come, Angèle.” Putting his arm through hers he stooped for the suitcase.
But Jinny, after a second’s bewildered but incredulous stare, was quicker even than they. Her slight figure, her head high, preceded them; vanished into a telephone booth.
Roger glared after her. “Well of all the damned cheek!”
For the first time in the pursuit of her chosen ends she began to waver. Surely no ambition, no pinnacle of safety was supposed to call for the sacrifice of a sister. She might be selfish—oh, undoubtedly she had been selfish all these months to leave Jinny completely to herself—but she had never meant to be cruel. She tried to picture the tumult of emotions in her sister’s mind, there must have been amazement—oh she had seen it all on her face, the utter bewilderment, the incredulity and then the settling down on that face of a veil of dignity and pride—like a baby trying to harden mobile features. She was in her apartment again now, pacing the floor, wondering what to do. Already she had called up the house in 139th Street, it had taken her a half-hour to get the number for she did not know the householder’s name and “Information” had been coy—but Miss Murray had not arrived yet. Were they expecting her? Yes, Miss Murray had written to say that she would be there between six and seven; it was seven-thirty now and she had not appeared. Was there any message? “No, no!” Angela explained she would call again.
But where was Jinny? She couldn’t be lost, after all she was grown-up and no fool, she could ask directons. Perhaps she had taken a cab and in the evening traffic had been delayed—or had met with an accident. This thought sent Angela to the telephone again. There was no Miss Murray as yet. In her wanderings back and forth across the room she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyes shining with remorse and anxiety. Her vanity reminded her: “If Roger could just see me now.” Roger and tomorrow! He would have to speak words of gold to atone for this breach which for his sake she had made in her sister’s trust and affection.
At the end of an hour she called again. Yes, Miss Murray had come in. So great was her relief that her knees sagged under her. Yes of course they would ask her to come to the telephone. After a long silence the voice rang again over the wire. “I didn’t see her go out but she must have for she’s not in her room.”
“Oh all right,” said Angela, “the main thing was to know that she was there.” But she was astonished. Jinny’s first night in New York and she was out already! She could not go to
