She felt the atmosphere the moment she entered. There were carelessly gowned women and men smart and shabby, but none of them were thinking of clothes nor even of one another. They had great deeds in mind; they were scanning the earth; they were toiling for men. The same grim excitement that sends smaller souls hunting for birds and rabbits and lions, had sent them hunting the enemies of mankind: they were bent to the chase, scenting the game, knowing the infinite meaning of their hunt and the glory of victory. Mary Cresswell had listened but a half hour before her world seemed so small and sordid and narrow, so trivial, that a sense of shame spread over her. These people were not only earnest, but expert. They acknowledged the need of Mr. Todd’s educational bill.
“But the Republicans are going to sidetrack it; I have that on the best authority,” said one.
“True; but can’t we force them to it?”
“Only by political power, and they’ve just won a campaign.”
“They won it by Negro votes, and the Negro who secured the votes is eager for this bill; he’s a fine, honest fellow.”
“Very well; work with him; and when we can be of real service let us know. Meantime, this Child Labor bill is different. It’s bound to pass. Both parties are back of it, and public opinion is aroused. Now our work is to force amendments enough to make the bill effective.”
Discussion followed; not flamboyant and declamatory, but tense, staccato, pointed. Mrs. Cresswell found herself taking part. Someone mentioned her name, and one or two glances of interest and even curiosity were thrown her way. Congressmen’s wives were rare at the Civic Club.
Congressmen Todd urged Mrs. Cresswell to stay after the discussion and attend a meeting of the managers and workers of the Washington social settlements.
“Have you many settlements?” she inquired.
“Three in all—two white and one colored.”
“And will they all be represented?”
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Cresswell. If you object to meeting the colored people—”
Mrs. Cresswell blushed.
“No, indeed,” she answered; “I used to teach colored people.”
She watched this new group gather: a business man, two fashionable ladies, three college girls, a gray-haired colored woman, and a young spectacled brown man, and then, to her surprise, Mrs. Vanderpool and Zora.
Zora was scarcely seated when that strange sixth sense of hers told her that something had happened, and it needed but a side-glance from Mrs. Vanderpool to indicate what it was. She sat with folded hands and the old dreamy look in her eyes. In one moment she lived it all again—the red cabin, the moving oak, the sowing of the Fleece, and its fearful reaping. And now, when she turned her head, she would see the woman who was to marry Bles Alwyn. She had often dreamed of her, and had set a high ideal. She wanted her to be handsome, well dressed, earnest and good. She felt a sort of person proprietorship in her, and when at last the quickened pulse died to its regular healthy beat, she turned and looked and knew.
Caroline Wynn deemed it a part of the white world’s education to participate in meetings like this; doing so was not pleasant, but it appealed to her cynicism and mocking sense of pleasure. She always roused hostility as she entered: her gown was too handsome, her gloves too spotless, her air had hauteur enough to be almost impudent in the opinion of most white people. Then gradually her intelligence, her cool wit and self-possession, would conquer and she would go gracefully out leaving a rather bewildered audience behind. She sat today with her dark gold profile toward Zora, and the girl looked and was glad. She was such a woman she would have Bles marry. She was glad, and she choked back the sob that struggled and fought in her throat.
The meeting never got beyond a certain constraint. The Congressman made an excellent speech; there were various sets of figures read by the workers; and Miss Wynn added a touch of spice by several pertinent questions and comments. Then, as the meeting broke up and Mrs. Cresswell came forward to speak to Zora, Mrs. Vanderpool managed to find herself near Miss Wynn and to be introduced. They exchanged a few polite phrases, fencing delicately to test the other’s wrist and interest. They touched on the weather, and settlement work; but Miss Wynn did not propose to be stranded on the Negro problem.
“I suppose the next bit of excitement will be in the inauguration,” she said to Mrs. Vanderpool.
“I understand it will be unusually elaborate,” returned Mrs. Vanderpool, a little surprised at the turn. Then she added pleasantly: “I think I shall see it through, from speech to ball.”
“Yes, I do usually,” Miss Wynn asserted, adjusting her furs.
Mrs. Vanderpool was further surprised. Did colored people attend the ball?
“We sorely need a national ballroom,” she said. “Isn’t the census building wretched?”
“I do not know,” smiled Miss Wynn.
“Oh, I thought you said—”
“I meant our ball.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Vanderpool in turn. “Oh!” Here a thought came. Of course, the colored people had their own ball; she remembered having heard about it. Why not send Zora? She plunged in:
“Miss Wynn, I have a maid—such an intelligent girl; I do wish she could attend your ball—” seeing her blunder, she paused. Miss Wynn was coolly buttoning her glove.
“Yes,” she acknowledged politely, “few of us can afford maids, and therefore we do not usually arrange for them; but I think we can have your protégée look on from the gallery. Good afternoon.”
As Mrs. Vanderpool drove home she related the talk to Zora. Zora was silent at first. Then she said deliberately:
“Miss Wynn was right.”
“Why, Zora!”
“Did Helene attend the ball four years ago?”
“But, Zora, must you folk ape our nonsense as well as our sense?”
“You force us to,” said Zora.
XXVIII
The Annunciation
The new President had been inaugurated. Beneath the creamy pile of
