ber the anguish in her mother's tone as she had implored her to go to bed, and the grey, ashen pallor in her mother's face, as she sank, exhausted after her successful struggle, into an armchair. They had never referred thereafter to this incident, but Mary would never forget it.
Her father, reared in a small town in the Middle West, had attended white schools, first the local public schools, later the state university. Early in life he had become imbued with the ideal of doing something for his unfortunate race. Later, this ideal became a passion which drove him on until, when he had accumulated sufficient money through his law practice to make his family comfortable and to educate his daughter, he devoted as much of his time as possible to public speaking, explaining the problems of the Negro to white audiences or fostering ideals of industry and ambition in the younger generation of coloured people.
Mary adored her father and it was with a feeling of pride and joy that she had learned from one of his recent letters that he planned to make one of his rare visits to New York. He arrived one morning early in October. Mary was unable to meet him at the station, as she could find no one willing to substitute for her in the library. Mr. Love, therefore, carried his bags to the home of Aaron Sumner, where he had been invited to be a guest, and then paid a call on his daughter at the library.
