“Why Mis’ Fanny ... it’s some frien’s o’ Miss Clara—“
Fanny’s words were swift action. “Did you send them away?”
“No ’m, I didn’t yet. Ah—Ah tole ’em ter wait. Should Ah—?”
“Let them come in. Tell them Miss Clara’s friend is here and will be glad to receive them.”
Lucy stood suspended in the unheard-of formal words of this lady whose value she sensed. By her face, she understood. She went out.
Fanny’s awareness was sheer above the drowse of her chair. Her eyes commanded her face: they were suddenly young.
The door opened. Two women ... Lucy shut them in, and they were three together.
One was a girl, short in her coat of black velours, all black except the gleaming face under black eyes, black toque: all round and yet her eyes watched Fanny sharply. Hostilely. Beside her a tall lank woman, very blonde, rose like the embodiment of the strange stroke in the round girl’s eyes.
They stood, Fanny got up.