Yes.
Then, what's the matter? Don't you love me, Mary?
Yes.
Then, why don't you say something?
I can't.
At last he seemed to comprehend. You're not alone?
No. How she hated this! Never again would she permit him to telephone her at the library. She felt Miss Silbert's accusing eyes creeping up and down her back. She knew what Miss Silbert was thinking: she knew what white people thought about Negroes under such circumstances. I'm going to Craig's to lunch at one o'clock, she added.
I'll join you there, he promised. Good-bye.
Good— Wait a minute! . . . but he had already hung up the receiver.
She returned to her position behind the counter. Alice was frankly staring at her now, making no slightest effort at dissimulation. A little later she saw Alice whisper to one of the other girls. The girl listened, giggling. Mary believed she was about to faint. She loathed Byron. In her present mood she felt she never wanted to see him again.
Miss Silbert was passing her desk. You don't look well, Mary, the librarian remarked sympathetically.
I've got a headache.
Alice, overhearing, grinned.
