"Are you the—er—the man who had a letter to the Senator?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let me see it. Oh, yes—he will see you in a moment."
Bles was returning the letter to his pocket when he heard a voice almost at his ear.
"I beg your pardon—"
He turned and started. It was the lady next to him, and she was colored! Not extremely colored, but undoubtedly colored, with waving black hair, light brown skin, and the fuller facial curving of the darker world. And yet Bles was surprised, for everything else about her—her voice, her bearing, the set of her gown, her gloves and shoes, the whole impression was—Bles hesitated for a word—well, "white."
"Yes—yes, ma'am," he stammered, becoming suddenly conscious that the lady had now a second time asked him if he was acquainted with Senator Smith. "That is, ma'am,"—why was he saying "ma'am," like a child or a servant?—"I know his sister and have a letter for him."
"Do you live in Washington?" she inquired.
"No—but I want to. I've been trying to get in as a clerk, and I haven't succeeded yet. That's what I'm going to see Senator Smith about."
"Have you had the civil-service examinations?"