Better see if you can run it down.
Well, I must hurry--good day."
While Bles Alwyn in the outer office was waiting and musing, a lady
came in. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the curve of her gown,
and as she seated herself beside him, the suggestion of a faint perfume.
A vague resentment rose in him. Colored women would look as well as
that, he argued, with the clothes and wealth and training. He paused,
however, in his thought: he did not want them like the whites--so cold
and formal and precise, without heart or marrow. He started up, for the
secretary was speaking to him.
"Are you the--er--the man who had a letter to the Senator?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let me see it. Oh, yes--he will see you in a moment."
Bles was returning the letter to his pocket when he heard a voice almost
at his ear.
"I beg your pardon--"
He turned and started. It was the lady next to him, and she was colored!
Not extremely colored, but undoubtedly colored, with waving black hair,
light brown skin, and the fuller facial curving of the darker world. And
yet Bles was surprised, for everything else about her--her voice, her
bearing, the set of her gown, her gloves and shoes, the whole impression
was--Bles hesitated for a word--well, "white."
"Yes--yes, ma'am," he stammered, becoming suddenly conscious that the
lady had now a second time asked him if he was acquainted with Senator
Smith.
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