It was foolish reasoning and fallacious, yet containing enough truth to make it sting. Some icy crust which had formed over Angela’s heart shifted, wavered, broke and melted. Suddenly it seemed as though nothing in the world were so important as to allay the poignancy of Miss Powell’s situation; for this, she determined quixotically, no price would be too dear. She said icily in tones which she had never heard herself use before: “It’s true I’ve never taken any stand hitherto for Miss Powell for I never thought she needed it. But now that the question has come up I want to say that I’d be perfectly willing to share my stateroom with her and to give her as much of my company as she could stand. However, that’s all out of the question now because Miss Powell isn’t going to France on the American Committee Fund and I’m not going either.” She stopped a second and added quietly: “And for the same reason.”
Someone said in bewilderment: “What do you mean when you say you’re not going? And for the same reason?”
“I mean that if Miss Powell isn’t wanted, I’m not wanted either. You imply that she’s not wanted because she’s coloured. Well, I’m coloured too.”
One of the men said under his breath, “God, what a scoop!” and reached for his hat. But Banky, his face set and white, held him back.
“I don’t believe you know what you’re saying, Miss Mory. But anyway, whether it’s true or untrue, for God’s sake take it back!”
His tone of horror added the last touch. Angela laughed in his face. “Take it back!” She could hardly contain herself. “Do you really think that being coloured is as awful as all that? Can’t you see that to my way of thinking it’s a great deal better to be coloured and to miss—oh—scholarships and honours and preferments, than to be the contemptible things which you’ve all shown yourselves to be this morning? Coming here baiting this poor girl and her mother, thrusting your self-assurance down their throats, branding yourselves literally dogs in the manger?” She turned to the coloured girl’s mother. “Mrs. Powell, you surely don’t want these people here any longer. Have I your permission to show them out?” Crossing the room superbly she opened the door. “This way, please, and don’t come back any more. You can rest assured we’ll find a way to keep you out.”
Silently the little line filed out. Only Miss Tilden, laying her hand on Angela’s arm paused to say avidly: “You’ll let me come to see you, surely? I can give you some fine publicity, only I must have more data. How about an exclusive interview?”
Angela said stonily: “Mrs. Powell will show you the front door.” Then she and her former classmate stood regarding each other. The dark girl crossed the room and caught her hands and kissed them. “Oh,” she said, “it was magnificent—I never guessed it—but you shouldn’t have done it. It’s all so unjust, so—silly—and so tiresome. You, of course, only get it when you bring it upon yourself. But I’m black and I’ve had it all my life. You don’t know the prizes within my grasp that have been snatched away from me again because of colour.” She turned as her mother entered the room. “Mother, wasn’t she magnificent?”
“She was a fool,” Mrs. Powell replied shortly.
Her words brought the exalted Angela back to earth. “Yes,” she said, smiling whimsically, “I am just that, a fool. I don’t know what possessed me. I’m poor, I was in distress; I wanted a new deal. Now I don’t know which way to turn for it. That story will be all over New York by tomorrow morning.” She burst out laughing. “Think of my choosing four reporters before whom to make my great confession!” Her hand sought Miss Powell’s. “Goodbye, both of you. Don’t worry about me. I never dreamed that anything like this could happen, but the mere fact that it has shows that the truth was likely to come out any day. So don’t blame yourselves for it. Goodbye.”
Banky was waiting for her in the vestibule downstairs. “I’m so sorry about the whole damned business, Miss Mory,” he said decently. “It’s a damned shame. If there’s anything I can do—”
Rather shortly she said there was nothing. “And you don’t need to worry. As I told you upstairs, being coloured isn’t as awful as all that. I’ll get along.” Ignoring his hand she passed by him into the street. It was Saturday afternoon so there was a chance of her finding Jinny at home.
“And if she isn’t there I can wait,” she told herself; and thanked God in her heart for the stability implied in sisterhood.
Jinny was home, mulling happily over the small affairs which kept her a little girl. Her sister, looking at the serene loveliness of her face, said irrelevantly: “You make me feel like an old woman.”
“Well,” replied Jinny, “you certainly have the art of concealing time’s ravages, for you not only look young but you have the manner of someone who’s just found a million dollars. Come in and tell me about it.”
“Found a million dollars! H’m, lost it I should say!” But a sudden wave of relief and contentment broke over her. “Oh, Jinny, tell me, have I been an utter fool! I’ve thrown away every chance I’ve ever had in the world—just for a whim.” Suddenly close in the full tide of sisterliness, they sat facing each other on the comfortable couch while Angela told her story. “I hadn’t the faintest idea in the world of telling it. I was thinking only the other day how lucky I was compared to Miss Powell, and the first thing I knew there it all came tripping off my tongue. But I had to do it. If you could just have seen those pigs of reporters and Miss Powell’s face under their
