"I never knew lawyers before to be so expeditious," Miss Witherspoon was saying, "I shall not talk again of the dilatoriness of the South."

"It has all happened very quickly," Hertha answered.

A week had passed since the receipt of the letter, and Hertha and Miss Witherspoon were sitting together on the gallery while Miss Patty took her afternoon nap. The younger woman was sewing on some underwear but the older sat with empty hands, looking now at the girl, now at the landscape.

"You have been wise at once to bank your money, Hertha." Miss Witherspoon had started with Miss Ogilvie, but had slipped back into the familiar appellation. "You can draw it any time, but this way will make you careful."

Hertha smiled.

"I am glad that you have decided to accompany me and enter upon work in Boston. It seems a special providence that I should have come to Merryvale at just this time, when I can be of use."

"I'm sure it is fortunate for me."

"I have made all the arrangements that we spoke of, and I know that you will like the Institute. The course there in dressmaking is admirable. It's a little late to enter, but as a special favor to me you will be allowed to go at once into your class. I said that you were clever with your needle and could easily make up the lessons you had missed."

"I hope I can."

"Of course you can, my dear. You have only to exert yourself, and everything will go as it should. And about your board. I have written to Clay House, and they will take you in with their first vacancy. It is always so crowded. You see, it is the best place for working-girls in Boston for the money. You might have to share your room with some one but I don't believe you would mind that. A single room is seven dollars a week, but with another girl it costs only five dollars. You wouldn't want to start in spending more than that, I presume. You agree with me?"

If Hertha was in disagreement she did not show it in her face, but neither did she express approval of Miss Witherspoon's plans; she simply allowed the lady to talk on.

And she did talk on. She told Hertha about Boston, its streets, its public gardens, its library, its admirable educational facilities. Her knowledge of the city was prodigious and she apparently was on the boards of half its institutions. When she was through, for the time being, with Boston, she turned to Hertha's personal affairs. It had been arranged that the two should leave together in three days, going by train to New York and on to Boston. Miss Witherspoon had definite ideas of what Hertha would and would not need for the trip. She cautioned her at present against buying any clothes beyond absolute necessities. There would be time for that later. And from this she turned to the general question of expenditure. "Two thousand dollars, you know, Hertha, is a very small sum. You must not think of it in terms of principal but of interest. At five per cent it means only a hundred dollars a year, or a little less than nine dollars a month. Of course you cannot live on that."

"No, of course not."

"And while I approve an immediate expenditure for education you will need continually to remember that your little patrimony as far as possible should be kept intact. If you touch the principal try to make it up afterwards. It is a great comfort to have a bank account."

Miss Patty came in at this point, fresh and pretty from her nap, and took the comfortable rocker near Hertha.

"What is Miss Witherspoon advising you now?" she asked, smiling.

"To be careful of my money," Hertha answered.

"A great mistake," the southern woman said, rocking lazily back and forth. "I would advise your spending at the outset at least five hundred dollars for clothes."

"What!" cried Hertha.

"Yes!" said Miss Patty, enjoying the annoyance on Miss Witherspoon's face. "I don't approve of your learning dressmaking, you know, my dear, it will lower your station. Get a lot of beautiful clothes in New York and then let me persuade Cousin Sally to take you about with her this winter. I'm sure she would enjoy toting a pretty southern girl around and if she didn't have you married in six months she should never have been born in Baltimore."

"It sounds very attractive," said Hertha, smiling. She knew Miss Patty was only half in earnest and that she liked above all things to shock her northern guest. "But think how terrible it would be for her if I didn't marry and Cousin Sally was left with me and the dresses!"

"If you wanted to support yourself at the start," Miss Witherspoon said, exactly as though no one but herself had spoken, "you could take up operating work."

"Operating work?" asked Hertha.

"Yes, operating power-machines. Good workwomen begin at ten dollars."

"I like the sound of that," Hertha said with more animation than she had yet shown. "I always enjoy using a machine."

Miss Patty was genuinely horrified. "Factory work!" she cried. "Factory work for this child! You're crazy. It would ruin her social position."

Hertha was startled. It was hard for her to remember that being an Ogilvie she had a social position.

"Take my advice," Miss Patty went on, "and if you must work, get a genteel job. Why not go as a companion? Now I had a pretty little relative, Dolly Simmons, not exactly a relative but we were kin, her father's brother and my nephew's wife were cousins. The Simmonses never had anything, or if they did they only kept it long enough to lose it in a jack-pot, and Dolly had to support herself. She was a nice little child, with eyes like yours, and she went into a family as companion. It was in Chicago and the woman, she had an immense fortune, took Dolly with her to Palm Beach. There Dolly was a raving success, so much so that she had three proposals in one winter. The Chicago woman was quite nasty about it, jealous of course, and sent Dolly off, but not before she had captured a widower with five children and three houses, one in the country, one at the beach and one in St. Louis. That was doing well for a Simmons. How I wish," Miss Merryvale looked affectionately at Hertha, "that I had the strength to take you away and give you a season. I wouldn't be jealous, my dear, but proud of all your conquests. But I fear it's out of the question."

"Yes," Hertha made haste to say, "you couldn't possibly, though it is very kind of you to want to."

"It's hard your not having any near relations. I'd love to have you stay with me, but I can understand your leaving. You're white and you don't want to remain where you've been black. But when you get North, don't make the mistake of lowering your social position, Hertha."

Hertha made no response, and then Miss Witherspoon, who had kept silent as long as was humanly possible burst out: "It is natural that Miss Merryvale and I should not agree on this matter, Hertha, but as long as you are going to live in the North I want you to understand northern conditions. I really believe you will be more likely to marry and to marry happily if you think nothing about it. Take up work that interests you and that you can do well. When you can take care of yourself then you may accept the man who wants to take care of you."

"Well, of all the extraordinary pieces of advice," Miss Patty murmured. But at this point Hertha arose and announced that she was going to her room.

Once by herself she drew a sigh of relief. These two women, she feared, would drive her to do something desperate. She had at once accepted Miss Witherspoon's invitation to travel with her to the North and had been grateful for her suggestions as to her education; but she had not expected to have everything arranged before she set foot in Boston. She would have preferred to look about and to plan for herself. Of Miss Patty's scheming she gave no thought, she was not in a humor to consider getting married; but her future career did interest her and she could but wish that it did not have an equal interest for Miss Witherspoon. Would she want to be closely in touch with this energetic woman? She reminded her of a teacher she had had at school, a Miss Smith—also from Boston. Miss Smith, who was a terror to the idler or the dreamer, had never missed a day from her work for twenty-two years. Was Miss Witherspoon like that? She was very particular about her room. Would all the people in Boston be so thorough and so emphatic?

She bestirred herself for a few minutes and then sat down idly by the window. She could see the broad stream and against the sky was a line of birds. They were too far away at first for her to name them, but suddenly the sunlight glistened on their snowy wings and she saw that they were ibises flying south. In a little while she would be flying North. What would her welcome there be like?

Of one thing she was sure. She wanted with all the intensity of her nature to get away, to leave Merryvale and all its inhabitants, black and white. Why, there was no place to which she could go! To turn down the path to her black mother's cottage, there to find herself a stranger, was more than she could bear; she would not go again until she went to say good-by. But here at the great house life was always difficult. She wearied of Miss Witherspoon and even of her dear Miss Patty; they were so bent upon running her as though she were a private show. She liked Mr. Merryvale sincerely, but she often avoided him, for once he asked her to walk with him and on the way they met his son; and she was in terror lest they two be left together.

For it was the younger man who made life difficult. He would not give up trying to speak with her, while never for a moment would she permit him to see her alone. She had resolved upon this course the night that she had come into his home and she did not mean to swerve from it. If Hertha Williams had not been worthy of a lasting love neither was Hertha Ogilvie. She avoided him, and when he had written her put back the letter unread in his room. But as she saw him at table, his bright face looking all attention if she spoke the simplest word; as she was the recipient of every courtesy from him, when, with the others, they sat in the living-room; as she caught his eye, the rare times that she glanced up when he was near and saw the old look in his face; she feared she could not trust herself if he should speak.

A knock at her door. She did not open it but asked who was there.

There was no answer; and though the knock was repeated she made no motion to open the door.

No, she would not talk with him. He had despised her, and now, as Ellen said, she could despise him. There was tonic in the thought.

"Hertha!" a voice called.

She was standing at the window and despite herself looked down to where Lee Merryvale stood below.

"Come!" he cried.

It sounded like a command. She shook her head angrily and walked back into the room. This was persecution. There was no place for her. Mammy's home was closed and in this she must continually evade one of the household.

Another knock. This time it was Miss Witherspoon. "May I come in just for a moment?" that lady said.

Hertha smiled pleasantly but inwardly felt resentment.

"I want so much to let you know what I've been thinking about," Miss Witherspoon announced as she entered the room. "I've just remembered a nice old couple whom I haven't seen for more than a year who live only a block from the Institute. I believe they would be delighted to take you to board."

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Palmer Field. I remember her well now. Her husband at one time was a clerk in a bank, though I don't know what he may be doing at present. The last time I saw him he looked too old to be a clerk. Probably they would be very glad to take you in, and would charge you only a dollar more than at Clay House. And there is something, you know, in what Miss Merryvale says about your having some social life. They are quiet, elderly people who sometimes take a student to board. I'll write and tell them about you and see whether they will take you in."

"I would rather wait, Miss Witherspoon; we start North in a few days."

"It doesn't do any harm to write; then when we go to see them they will know who you are."

"Are you telling every one about me?" The question came with a touch of anger.

"Why, yes, what else should I do? You have to tell something of your past, and how much better to have it known so that there will be no questioning. I assure you every one will be most considerate. Your story, with the legacy left you, has a touch of romance; and what a pretty name, too, 'Hertha,' Is it German?"

"Perhaps."

"Please excuse me," the Boston woman said as she moved apologetically toward the door, "I shouldn't have come in for I know you're tired of all our talk, but I had a new idea and I wanted you to hear it."

She looked pleasant as she spoke and Hertha smiled back, but when the door was shut the girl threw herself face downward upon the bed. It was a new thought to her that people would know her story, and she resented it. It was partly to escape the story that she was leaving here, and now she was to be discussed and pointed at in Boston as the white girl who grew up among Negroes. Instead of escaping from her past it was to follow her into the land where she had expected to be free.

Another knock at the door. Hertha rose slowly, and without opening, called, "Who is it?"

"Jes' me, Miss Hertha."

She opened, to find the cook, Pomona, outside.

"Some one wantin' ter speak wid you, Miss Hertha."

"Who?" Hertha asked.

Pomona rolled her eyes and grinned. Her sides shook as though with repressed laughter. "I can' guess, honey, an' he don' gib his name."

"I won't see any one," Hertha said angrily.

"You's mighty hard on folks now you's white." Pomona did not go away but continued to stand in the door grinning at the girl who had recently been a servant like herself. "Ain't yer gwine ter do nuthin' fer him? Seems like ater all dat huggin' an' kissin' in de orange grobe——"

"Come in!" Hertha drew the woman into the room and shut the door behind them. Her face was drawn with fear.

"Don' you worry, chile," the black woman said kindly. "I won't tell on yer; but I's Mr. Lee's frien' an' I ain't gwine ter see him put about, not for no white-faced brat."

Hertha's eyes were very bright as she looked the big woman in the face. "Pomona," she said, "you must help me. Go down to him and ask him not to try to speak to me. Tell him that I ask him as a gentleman not to try to see me alone. I'm going away in three days, it isn't long for him to do as I ask. Go down to him, Pomona, and bring his answer back to me."

She spoke with such earnestness that the colored woman was impressed, and muttering, "I'll t'ink about it," turned to go.

Hertha ran to her and clutched her arm. "Do it for me," she whispered.

In a few minutes the woman came back. "He's gone," she said. "Went down de road an' he says ter tell yer he won't trouble yer agin."

Then she closed the door with much dignity.

Through the open window came a gentle rustle of the wind among the live-oaks. Hertha stood in the middle of the room, her head drooping, the shadows dark under her tired eyes. She felt utterly alone. The old world was lost to her and she had closed the door upon the new.

Going to the window she looked beyond the oaks and down the road, and in the warm afternoon light saw the man she loved slowly walking away. Moving across the room she put her hand upon the knob of the door; but after a moment's hesitation she turned back, a determined look on her face.

"Reckon I won't trouble him again," she echoed.