Ellen rose and left the room. Hertha heard her explain to the young man that the white girl could not go away yet. "She is very tired, Mr. Lee," she declared, "and wants to remain here at present."
Lee seemed to demur but after a few minutes he left the house.
When he had gone Hertha walked into the living-room. There was the familiar table, the straight-backed chairs, and the comfortable rocker; there was the reading-lamp with its green shade and the china with the pink flowers set upon the sideboard; there were the books upon the shelf; and yet everything seemed strange. Did her own thoughts give it unreality, her thoughts that roamed continually through the white world that she was soon to enter, or was it the two people whom she so loved who were already oddly constrained? "Miss Hertha," she had heard her black mother say—the mother who had cared for her, had fed and clothed her, had watched by her bedside in her illnesses. "Miss Hertha"! Was her home to slip from her like this?
"Ellen," she cried, "I shall have to go away before long, I know that, but don't push me out upon the Merryvales because I don't want to go."
"I'll do what I can," Ellen answered.
"Honey," her mammy exclaimed, "it don't seem like we could eber let you leab us. Dis home been you's mo'n our own. But you is white, now, baby, an' you can't be wid colored folks no mo'."
"Why can't I if I choose to?" Hertha asked, her mouth quivering. "I want to stay here until I leave. I have to visit that lawyer soon and get my money, and then, I suppose, I'll go somewhere up North. But while I'm in Merryvale I want to be with you."
"Baby, I's feared it ain't de right way."
"Have you had anything to eat, Sister?" Ellen inquired. "This must have been a terribly exciting day for you. I'll hurry and get supper."
Hertha rose to help but her black mother pushed her back into her chair. "You jes' stay hyar while Ellen an' me gits de t'ings."