to teach darkies. Of course, I don’t believe all their talk, but I thought you ought to know.” She talked a while longer, then fluttered furtively away.
Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell sat down limply. She saw ruin ahead‚ÅÝ‚Äîto think of a black girl taking a prize at an all-Southern art exhibit!
But there was still a chance, and she leaped to action. This colored woman was doubtless some poor deserving creature. She would call on her immediately, and by an offer of abundant help induce her to withdraw quietly.
Entering her motor, she drove near the address and then proceeded on foot. The street was a prominent one, the block one of the best, the house almost pretentious. She glanced at her memorandum again to see if she was mistaken. Perhaps the woman was a domestic; probably she was, for the name on the door was Stillings. It occurred to her that she had heard that name before‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut where? She looked again at her memorandum and at the house.
She rang the bell, asking the trim black maid: “Is there a person named Caroline Wynn living in this house?”
The girl smiled and hesitated.
‚ÄúYes, ma‚Äôam,‚Äù she finally replied. ‚ÄúWon‚Äôt you come in?‚Äù She was shown into the parlor, where she sat down. The room was most interesting, furnished in unimpeachable taste. A few good pictures were on the walls, and Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell was examining one when she heard the swish of silken skirts. A lady with gold brown face and straight hair stood before her with pleasant smile. Where had Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell seen her before? She tried to remember, but could not.
‚ÄúYou wished to see‚ÅÝ‚ÄîCaroline Wynn?‚Äù
“Yes.”