Mrs. Cresswell felt herself getting angry.
"Why did you send your exhibit when you knew it was not wanted?"
"Because you asked me to."
"We did not ask for colored people."
"You asked all Southern-born persons. I am a person and I am Southern born. Moreover, you sent me a personal letter."
Mrs. Cresswell was sure that this was a lie and was thoroughly incensed.
"You cannot have the prize," she almost snapped. "If you will withdraw I will pay you any reasonable sum."
"Thank you. I do not want money; I want justice."
Mrs. Cresswell arose and her face was white.
"That is the trouble with you Negroes: you wish to get above your places and force yourselves where you are not wanted. It does no good, it only makes trouble and enemies." Mrs. Cresswell stopped, for the colored woman had gone quietly out of the room and in a moment the maid entered and stood ready. Mrs. Cresswell walked slowly to the door and stepped out. Then she turned.
"What does Miss Wynn do for a living?"
The girl tittered.
"She used to teach school but she don't do nothing now. She's just married; her husband is Mr. Stillings, Register of the Treasury."
Mrs. Cresswell saw light as she turned to go down the steps. There was but one resource--she must keep the matter out of the newspapers, and see Stillings, whom she now remembered well.
"I beg pardon, does the Miss Wynn live here who got the prize in the art exhibition?"
Mrs. Cresswell turned in amazement. It was evidently a reporter, and the maid was admitting him. The news would reach the papers and be blazoned to-morrow. Slowly she caught her motor and fell wearily back on its cushions.
"Where to, Madame?" asked the chauffeur.
"I don't care," returned Madame; so the chauffeur took her home.
She walked slowly up the stairs. All her carefully laid plans seemed about to be thwarted and her castles were leaning toward ruin.
Yet all was not lost, if her husband continued to believe in her. If, as she feared, he should suspect her on account of this Negro woman, and quarrel with her-But he must not. This very night, before the morning papers came out, she must explain. He must see; he must appreciate her efforts.
She rushed into her dressing-room and called her maid. Contrary to her Puritan notions, she frankly sought to beautify herself. She remembered that it was the anniversary of her coming to this house. She got out her wedding-dress, and although it hung loosely, the maid draped the Silver Fleece beautifully about her.