It was one of those vicious mornings, windy and bright. There seemed to Helga, as they emerged from the depths of the vast station, to be a whirling malice in the sharp air of this shining city. Mrs. Hayes-Rore’s words about its terrible loneliness shot through her mind. She felt its aggressive unfriendliness. Even the great buildings, the flying cabs, and the swirling crowds seemed manifestations of purposed malevolence. And for that first short minute she was awed and frightened and inclined to turn back to that other city, which, though not kind, was yet not strange. This New York seemed somehow more appalling, more scornful, in some inexplicable way even more terrible and uncaring than Chicago. Threatening almost. Ugly. Yes, perhaps she’d better turn back.

The feeling passed, escaped in the surprise of what Mrs. Hayes-Rore was saying. Her oratorical voice boomed above the city’s roar. “I suppose I ought really to have phoned Anne from the station. About you, I mean. Well, it doesn’t matter. She’s got plenty of room. Lives alone in a big house, which is something Negroes in New York don’t do. They fill ’em up with lodgers usually. But Anne’s funny. Nice, though. You’ll like her, and it will be good for you to know her if you’re going to stay in New York. She’s a widow, my husband’s sister’s son’s wife. The war, you know.”8 “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.”

“They’re not being made,” contradicted Mrs. Hayes-Rore. “I intended to let them have the money anyway, and I’ll tell Mr. Darling so—after he takes you. They ought to be glad to get you. Colored organizations always need more brains as well as more money. Don’t worry. And don’t thank me again. You haven’t got the job yet, you know.”