know that one was suffering. Sob stuff, thought Emma Lou, and, tearing the letter up, threw it into the waste paper basket.
Emma Lou was now maid to Arline Strange, who was playing for the moment the part of a mulatto Carmen in an alleged melodrama of Negro life in Harlem. Having tried, for two weeks to locate what she termed “congenial work,” Emma Lou had given up the idea and meekly returned to Mazelle Lindsay. She had found her old job satisfactorily filled, but Mazelle had been sympathetic and had arranged to place her with Arline Strange. Now her mother wanted her to come home. Let her want. She was of age, and supporting herself. Moreover, she felt that if it had not been for gossip her mother would never have thought of asking her to come home.
“Stop your mooning, dearie.” Arline Strange had returned to her dressing room. Act one was over. The Negro Carmen had become the mistress of a wealthy European. She would now shed her gingham dress for an evening gown.
Mechanically, Emma Lou assisted Arline in making the change. She was unusually silent. It was noticed.
“’Smatter, Louie. In love or something?”
Emma Lou smiled, “Only with myself.”
