make one or would this blow send her to perdition? Not if Sarah Smith could save her, she resolved, and stared out the window where the pale red dawn was sending its first rays on the white-pillared mansion of the Cresswells.
Mrs. ¬ÝGrey saw the light on the columns, too, as she lay lazily in her soft white bed. There was a certain delicious languor in the late lingering fall of Alabama that suited her perfectly. Then, too, she liked the house and its appointments; there was not, to be sure, all the luxury that she was used to in her New York mansion, but there was a certain finish about it, an elegance and staid old-fashioned hospitality that appealed to her tremendously. Mrs. ¬ÝGrey‚Äôs heart warmed to the sight of Helen in her moments of spasmodic caring for the sick and afflicted on the estate. No better guardian of her philanthropies could be found than these same Cresswells. She must, of course, go over and see dear Sarah Smith; but really there was not much to say or to look at.
The prospects seemed most alluring. Later, Mr. ¬ÝEasterly talked a while on routine business, saying, as he turned away:
‚ÄúI am more and more impressed, Mrs. ¬ÝGrey, with your wisdom in placing large investments in the South. With peaceful social conditions the returns will be large.‚Äù
Mrs. ¬ÝGrey heard this delicate flattery complacently. She had her streak of thrift, and wanted her business capacity recognized. She listened attentively.
“For this reason, I trust you will handle your Negro philanthropies judicially, as I know you will. There’s dynamite in this race problem for amateur reformers, but fortunately you have at hand wise and sympathetic advisers in the Cresswells.”
Mrs. ¬ÝGrey agreed entirely.