"I heard that McGhee of St. Paul will be in the city next week with his daughter."
"Yes, and the Bentleys of Chicago."
Bles passed on. He was disappointed. He was full of things to say, of mighty matters to discuss; he felt like stopping these people and crying: "Ho! What of the morning? How goes the great battle for black men's rights? I have came with messages from the host, to you who guard the mountain tops."
Apparently they were not discussing or caring about "the Problem." He grew disgusted and was edging toward the door when he encountered his hostess.
"Is all well with you, Mr. Alwyn?" she asked lightly.
"No, I'm not enjoying myself," said Bles, truthfully.
"Delicious! And why not?"
He regarded her earnestly.
"There are so many things to talk about," he said; "earnest things; things of importance. I—I think when our people—" he hesitated. Our?—was our right? But he went on: "When our people meet we ought to talk of our situation, and what to do and—"
Miss Wynn continued to smile.