“I must go now. It is my night to teach at Welcome House.”
Lily regarded her with a puzzled expression until her mother, turning to explain, said, “She teaches English to a class of foreigners in Halsted street.” And then to Irene, “You might have given it up on the first night Lily was home!”
A look of stubbornness came into the pale face of the younger sister. “I can’t. They are depending on me. I shall see Lily every day for weeks. This is a duty. To stay would be to yield to pleasure.”
“But you’re not going alone into Halsted street?” protested Lily. “At night! You must be crazy!”
“I’m perfectly safe.... They know me and what I do,” the sister answered proudly. “Besides there is one of the men who always sees me home.”
She came round to Lily’s chair and gave her a kiss, the merest brushing of cool lips against the older sister’s warm cheek. “Good-night,” she said, “in case you have gone to bed before I return.”
When Irene had gone, an instant change took place in the demeanor of the two women. It was as though some invisible barrier, separating the souls of mother and daughter, had been let down suddenly. Lily leaned back and stretched her long limbs. The mulatto woman brought cigarettes and the mother and daughter settled themselves to talking. They were at last alone and free to say what they would.
“How long has Irene been behaving in this fashion?” asked Lily.
“It is more than three years now. I don’t interfere because it gives her so much pleasure. It saved her, you know, from entering the church. Anything is better than that.”
Then all at once as though they had suddenly entered another world, they began to talk French, shutting out the mulatto woman from their conversation.