"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."