I dare say it's because there's such a lot o' blacks there instead o'
respectable white people. When I heard you was comin' from India I
thought you was a black too."

Mary sat up in bed furious.

"What!" she said. "What! You thought I was a native. You--you
daughter of a pig!"

Martha stared and looked hot.

"Who are you callin' names?" she said. "You needn't be so vexed.
That's not th' way for a young lady to talk. I've nothin' against th'
blacks. When you read about 'em in tracts they're always very
religious. You always read as a black's a man an' a brother. I've
never seen a black an' I was fair pleased to think I was goin' to see
one close. When I come in to light your fire this mornin' I crep' up
to your bed an' pulled th' cover back careful to look at you. An'
there you was," disappointedly, "no more black than me--for all you're
so yeller."

Mary did not even try to control her rage and humiliation. "You
thought I was a native! You dared! You don't know anything about
natives! They are not people--they're servants who must salaam to you.
You know nothing about India. You know nothing about anything!"

She was in such a rage and felt so helpless before the girl's simple
stare, and somehow she suddenly felt so horribly lonely and far away
from everything she understood and which understood her, that she threw
herself face downward on the pillows and burst into passionate sobbing.
She sobbed so unrestrainedly that good-natured Yorkshire Martha was a
little frightened and quite sorry for her. She went to the bed and
bent over her.

"Eh! you mustn't cry like that there!" she begged. "You mustn't for
sure. I didn't know you'd be vexed. I don't know anythin' about
anythin'--just like you said. I beg your pardon, Miss. Do stop cryin'."

There was something comforting and really friendly in her queer
Yorkshire speech and sturdy way which had a good effect on Mary. She
gradually ceased crying and became quiet. Martha looked relieved.

"It's time for thee to get up now," she said. "Mrs. Medlock said I was
to carry tha' breakfast an' tea an' dinner into th' room next to this.
It's been made into a nursery for thee. I'll help thee on with thy
clothes if tha'll get out o' bed. If th' buttons are at th' back tha'
cannot button them up tha'self."

When Mary at last decided to get up, the clothes Martha took from the
wardrobe were not the ones she had worn when she arrived the night
before wit