Sometimes the thought of how all her world was made, filled the complex, desiring Melanctha with despair.  She wondered, often, how she could go on living when she was so blue.

Melanctha told Rose one day how a woman whom she knew had killed herself because she was so blue.  Melanctha said, sometimes, she thought this was the best thing for her herself to do.

Rose Johnson did not see it the least bit that way.

“I don’t see Melanctha why you should talk like you would kill yourself just because you’re blue.  I’d never kill myself Melanctha just ’cause I was blue.  I’d maybe kill somebody else Melanctha ’cause I was blue, but I’d never kill myself.  If I ever killed myself Melanctha it’d be by accident, and if I ever killed myself by accident Melanctha, I’d be awful sorry.”

Rose Johnson and Melanctha Herbert had first met, one night, at church.  Rose Johnson did not care much for religion.  She had not enough emotion to be really roused by a revival.  Melanctha Herbert had not come yet to know how to use religion.  She was still too complex with desire.  However, the two of them in negro fashion went very often to the negro church, along with all their friends, and they slowly came to know each other very well.

Rose Johnson had been raised not as a servant but quite like their own child by white folks.  Her mother who had died when Rose was still a baby, had been a trusted servant in the family.  Rose was a cute, attractive, good looking little black girl and these people had no children of their own and so they kept Rose in their house.

As Rose grew older she drifted from her white folks back to the colored people, and she gradually no longer lived in the old house.  Then it happened that these people went away to some other town to live, and somehow Rose stayed behind in Bridgepoint.  Her white folks left a little money to take care of Rose, and this money she got every little while.

Rose now in the easy fashion of the poor lived with one woman in her house, and then for no reason went and lived with some other woman in her house.  All this time, too, Rose kept company, and was engaged, first to this colored man and then to that, and always she made sure she was engaged, for Rose had strong the sense of proper conduct.

“No, I ain’t no common nigger just to go around with any man, nor you Melanctha shouldn’t neither,” she said one day when she was telling the complex and less sure Melanctha what was the right way for her to do.  “No Melanctha, I ain’t no common nigger to do so, for I was raised by white folks.  You know very well Melanctha that I’se always been engaged to them.”

And so Rose lived on, always comfortable and rather decent and very lazy and very well content.