Once convinced of this, she let her imagination play and saw the line even where it did not exist.
With her bit of property and brilliant parts she had had many suitors but they had been refused one after another for reasons she could hardly have explained.
For years now Tom Teerswell had been her escort. Whether or not Caroline Wynn would ever marry him was a perennial subject of speculation among their friends and it usually ended in the verdict that she could not afford it‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat it was financially impossible.
Nevertheless, the two were usually seen in public together, and although she often showed her quiet mastery of the situation, seldom had she snubbed him so openly as at the Treble Clef concert.
Teerswell was furious and began to plot vengeance; but Miss Wynn was attracted by the personality of Bles Alwyn.
Southern country Negroes were rare in her set, but here was a man of intelligence and keenness coupled with an amazing frankness and modesty, and perceptibly shadowed by sorrow.
The combination was, so far as she had observed, both rare and temporary and she was disposed to watch it in this case purely as a matter of intellectual curiosity. At the door of her home, therefore, after a walk of unusual interest, she said:
‚ÄúI‚Äôm going to have a few friends in next Tuesday night; won‚Äôt you come, Mr. ¬ÝAlwyn?‚Äù And Mr. ¬ÝAlwyn said that he would.
Next morning Miss Wynn rather repented her hasty invitation, but of course nothing could be done now. Nothing? Well, there was one thing; and she went to the telephone.