floor seeming to move beneath her feet. She was face to
face with the incredible tale that her memory told her she must credit
as the truth. The mystery then that surrounded Dick's princess, his
beautiful lady to whom he gave his humble devotion, was humiliating and
sordid. Disgrace, hidden by a life among Negroes. Worst of all, the smut
of the blacks upon her since she desired to be with them again. This was
the reason she had been so angry at Dick when he had raged against
"niggers." She had lived with them in their dark alleys, she had eaten
and slept with the kinky-haired slave-race!

Slowly feeling her way past the dainty white bed, Mrs. Pickens reached
the door. Her hand was on the knob when Hertha struck a match. Suddenly
the room was flooded with the yellow gas-light, blinding them both. The
older woman put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the glare,
and then resolutely drew it away and stared into Hertha's face. She
expected to find some change, some sign of those former detestable
surroundings. But in the bright glow of the light the girl was more
exquisite than ever. She tried to speak, to announce that she knew the
truth, but she could not charge this aristocratic-looking young woman
with the disgrace of having lived with "niggers." Without a word she
turned the knob and left the room.

Hertha looked after her, startled. She had meant to tell her whole
story, but something in the silence that had followed her answer to Mrs.
Pickens' last question frightened her, and too timid to speak further
she had sought the comfort of the light. Then she saw her landlady, a
strange, disgusted expression on her face, her nostrils distended as
though detecting some distasteful smell, turn away and leave her alone.

The girl went to the window and pulled down the shade. Turning to the
mirror she looked at herself in the glass. The face that looked back at
her was thin and white, with sad lines about the dark eyes, but it was
familiar, the same face that Mrs. Pickens had seen since she had come
into this home. What was there that should make this woman gaze at her
with repugnance and then go away? She pressed her hands upon her waving
hair. Had she guessed something worse than the truth, something that
Hertha herself had believed the truth until a short time ago? Did she
think she was a Negro? If she thought that! Leaving the mirror the girl
seated herself in a chair and wearily reached out to the table for the
b