Her relief at learning that Jinny was safe did not ease her guilty conscience. In a calmer mood she tried now to find excuses for herself, extenuating circumstances. As soon as Jinny understood all that was involved she would overlook it. After all, Jinny would want her to be happy. “And anyway,” she thought to herself sulkily, “Mamma didn’t speak to Papa that day that we were standing on the steps of the Hotel Walton.” But she knew that the cases were not analogous; no principle was involved, her mother’s silence had not exposed her husband to insult or contumely, whereas Roger’s attitude to Virginia had been distinctly offensive. “And moreover,” her thoughts continued with merciless clarity, “when a principle was at stake your mother never hesitated a moment to let those hospital attendants know of the true status of affairs. In fact she was not aware that she was taking any particular stand. Her husband was her husband and she was glad to acknowledge that relationship.”
A sick distaste for her action, for her daily deception, for Roger and his prejudices arose within her. But with it came a dark anger against a country and a society which could create such an issue. And she thought: “If I had spoken to Jinny, had acknowledged her, what good would it have done me or her either? After it was all over she would have been exactly where she was before and I would have lost everything. And I do so want to be happy, to have a good time. At this very hour tomorrow I’ll probably be one of the most envied girls in New York. And afterwards I can atone for it all. I’ll be good to all sorts of people; I’ll really help humanity, lots of coloured folks will be much better of on account of me. And if I had spoken to Jinny I could never have helped them at all.” Once she murmured: “I’ll help Jinny too, the darling! She shall have everything in the world she wants.” But in her heart she knew already that Jinny would want nothing.
VII
Thursday came and Thursday sped as Thursdays will. For a long time Angela saw it as a little separate entity of time shut away in some hidden compartment of her mind, a compartment whose door she dreaded to open.
On Friday she called up her sister early in the morning. “Is that you, Jinny? Did you get my letter? Is it all right for me to come up?”
“Yes,” said Jinny noncomittally, to all questions, then laconically: “But you’d better come right away if you want to catch me. I take the examination today and haven’t much time.”
Something in the matter-of-factness of her reply disconcerted Angela. Yet there certainly was no reason why her sister should show any enthusiasm over seeing her. Only she did want to see her, to talk to someone of her very own today. She would like to burrow her head in Virginia’s shoulder and cry! But a mood such as Jinny’s voice indicated did not invite confidences.
A stout brown-skinned bustling woman suggesting immense assurance and ability opened the door. “Miss Murray told me that she was expecting someone. You’re to go right on up. Hers is the room right next to the third storey front.”
“She was expecting someone.” Evidently Virginia had been discreet. This unexpected, unsought for carefulness carried a sting with it.
“Hello,” said Jinny, casually thrusting a dishevelled but picturesque head out of the door. “Can you find your way in? This room’s larger than any two we ever had at home, yet already it looks like a ship at sea.” She glanced about the disordered place. “I wonder if this is what they mean by ‘shipshape.’ Here I’ll hang up this suit, then you can sit down. Isn’t it a sweetie? Got it at Snellenburg’s.”
She had neither kissed nor offered to shake hands with her sister, yet her manner was friendly enough, even cordial. “See I’ve bobbed my hair,” she went on. “Like it? I’m wild about it even if it does take me forever to fix it.” Standing before a mirror she began shaping the ends under with a curling iron.
Angela thought she had never seen anyone so pretty and so colourful. Jinny had always shown a preference for high colours; today she was revelling in them; her slippers were high heeled small red mules; a deep green dressing-gown hung gracefully from her slim shoulders and from its open collar flamed the rose and gold of her smooth skin. Her eyes were bright and dancing. Her hair, black, alive and curling, ended in a thick velvety straightness like cut plush.
Angela said stiffly, “I hope I didn’t get you up, telephoning so early.”
Virginia smiled, flushing a little more deeply under the dark gold of her skin. “Oh dear no! I’d already had an earlier call than that this morning.”
“You had!” exclaimed Angela, astonished. “I didn’t know you knew anyone in New York.” She remembered her sister’s mysterious disappearance the first night of her arrival. “And see here, Jinny, I’m awfully sorry about what happened the other night. I wouldn’t have had it happen for a great deal. I wish I could explain to you about it.” How confidently she had counted on having marvellous news to tell Virginia and now how could she drag to the light yesterday’s sorry memory? “But I called you up again and again and you hadn’t arrived and then when they finally
