The Return of Alwyn
Bles Alwyn stared at Mrs. ¬ÝHarry Cresswell in surprise. He had not seen her since that moment at the ball, and he was startled at the change. Her abundant hair was gone; her face was pale and drawn, and there were little wrinkles below her sunken eyes. In those eyes lurked the tired look of the bewildered and the disappointed. It was in the lofty waiting-room of the Washington station where Alwyn had come to meet a friend. Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell turned and recognized him with genuine pleasure. He seemed somehow a part of the few things in the world‚ÅÝ‚Äîlittle and unimportant perhaps‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat counted and stood firm, and she shook his hand cordially, not minding the staring of the people about. He took her bag and carried it towards the gate, which made the observers breathe easier, seeing him in servile duty. Someway, she knew not just how, she found herself telling him of the crisis in her life before she realized; not everything, of course, but a great deal. It was much as though she were talking to someone from another world‚ÅÝ‚Äîan outsider; but one she had known long, one who understood. Both from what she recounted and what she could not tell he gathered the substance of the story, and it bewildered him. He had not thought that white people had such troubles; yet, he reflected, why not? They, too, were human.
“I suppose you hear from the school?” he ventured after a pause.
‚ÄúWhy, yes‚ÅÝ‚Äînot directly‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut Zora used to speak of it.‚Äù
Bles looked up quickly.
“Zora?”