"No, I had met him on the street when he was on the way down there."
"I see. Did he speak to you on the street?"
"Oh, no, mother. He did not know me."
"But he might have spoken anyhow...."
"But he was a gentleman, and he never spoke." She paused briefly, and then, her voice a trifle lower, said: "Of course he looked at me. But—"
"Well, any man would do that. We must grant that men are men. How were you impressed with him when you met him later at this friend's house?"
"Well, I don't know," returned Orlean hesitatingly. "He seemed to be a great talker, was very commonplace, dressed nicely but not showily. He knew quite a few people in Chicago that we know, and was born near the town in which I met him. He was just returning from New York, and—well, I rather admired him. He is far above the average colored man, I can say."
"M-m," her mother mused thoughtfully, and with an air of satisfaction. She couldn't think of anything more to say just then, and upon looking at the clock which showed ten minutes of two, she said: "Well, you had better go in the parlor, and after he has called, when convenient, call me and permit me to meet him. You will be careful, my dear, and understand that we have raised you to be a lady, and exercise your usual dignity."
"Yes, mama."
On the hour the street door bell was pulled with a jerk, and arising, Orlean went toward the door expectantly.