Quicksand
widow, my husband‘s sister‘s son‘s wife. The war, you know.”
“Oh,” protested Helga Crane, with a feeling of acute misgiving, "but won‘t she be annoyed and inconvenienced by having me brought in on her like this? I supposed we were going to the ‘Y‘ or a hotel or something like that. Oughtn‘t we really to stop and phone?”
The woman at her side in the swaying cab smiled, a peculiar invincible, self-reliant smile, but gave Helga Crane‘s suggestion no other attention. Plainly she was a person accustomed to having things her way. She merely went on talking of other plans. “I think maybe I can get you some work. With a new Negro insurance company. They‘re after me to put quite a tidy sum into it. Well, I‘ll just tell them that they may as well take you with the money,” and she laughed.
“Thanks awfully,” Helga said, “but will they like it? I mean being made to take me because of the money.”
90
