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red。”
“And　I；　too；”　said　St。　Clare；　taking　up　the　morning　paper。
Eva；　the　beautiful　Eva；　had　stood　listening　to　her　mother；　with　that　expression　of　deep　and　mystic　earnestness　which　was　peculiar　to　her。　She　walked　softly　round　to　her　mother’s　chair；　and　put　her　arms　round　her　neck。
“Well；　Eva；　what　now？”　said　Marie。
“Mamma；　couldn’t　I　take　care　of　you　one　night—just　one？　I　know　I　shouldn’t　make　you　nervous；　and　I　shouldn’t　sleep。　I　often　lie　awake　nights；　thinking—”
“O；　nonsense；　child—nonsense！”　said　Marie；　“you　are　such　a　strange　child！”
“But　may　I；　mamma？　I　think；”　she　said；　timidly；　“that　Mammy　isn’t　well。　She　told　me　her　head　ached　all　the　time；　lately。”
“O；　that’s　just　one　of　Mammy’s　fidgets！　Mammy　is　just　like　all　the　rest　of　them—makes　such　a　fuss　about　every　little　headache　or　finger…ache；　it’ll　never　do　to　encourage　it—never！　I’m　principled　about　this　matter；”　said　she；　turning　to　Miss　Ophelia；　“you’ll　find　the　necessity　of　it。　If　you　encourage　servants　in　giving　way　to　every　little　disagreeable　feeling；　and　complaining　of　every　little　ailment；　you’ll　have　your　hands　full。　I　never　complain　myself—nobody　knows　what　I　endure。　I　feel　it　a　duty　to　bear　it　quietly；　and　I　do。”
Miss　Ophelia’s　round　eyes　expressed　an　undisguised　amazement　at　this　peroration；　which　struck　St。　Clare　as　so　supremely　ludicrous；　that　he　burst　into　a　loud　laugh。
“St。　Clare　always　laughs　when　I　make　the　least　allusion　to　my　ill　health；”　said　Marie；　with　the　voice　of　a　suffering　martyr。　“I　only　hope　the　day　won’t　come　when　he’ll　remember　it！”　and　Marie　put　her　handkerchief　to　her　eyes。
Of　course；　there　was　rather　a　foolish　silence。　Finally；　St。　Clare　got　up；　looked　at　his　watch；　and　said　he　had　an　engagement　down　street。　Eva　tripped　away　after　him；　and　Miss　Ophelia　and　Marie　remained　at　the　table　alone。
“Now；　that’s　just　like　St。　Clare！”　said　the　latter；　withdrawing　her　handkerchief　with　somewhat　of　a　spirited　flourish　when　the　criminal　to　be　affected　by　it　was　no　longer　in　sight。　“He　never　realizes；　never　can；　never　will；　what　I　suffer；　and　have；　for　years。　If　I　was　one　of　the　complaining　sort；　or　ever　made　any　fuss　about　my　ailments；　there　would　be　some　reason　for　it。　Men　do　get　tired；　naturally；　of　a　complaining　wife。　But　I’ve　kept　things　to　myself；　and　borne；　and　borne；　till　St。　Clare　has　got　in　the　way　of　thinking　I　can　bear　anything。”
Miss　Ophelia　did　not　exactly　know　what　she　was　expected　to　answer　to　this。
While　she　was　thinking　what　to　say；　Marie　gradually　wiped　away　her　tears；　and　smoothed　her　plumage　in　a　general　sort　of　way；　as　a　dove　might　be　supposed　to　make　toilet　after　a　shower；　and　began　a　housewifely　chat　with　Miss　Ophelia；　concerning　cupboards；　closets；　linen…presses；　store…rooms；　and　other　matters；　of　which　the　latter　was；　by　common　understanding；　to　assume　the　direction；—giving　her　so　many　cautious　directions　and　charges；　that　a　head　less　systematic　and　business…like　than　Miss　Ophelia’s　would　have　been　utterly　dizzied　and　confounded。
“And　now；”　said　Marie；　“I　believe　I’ve　told　you　everything；　so　that；　when　my　next　sick　turn　comes　on；　you’ll　be　able　to　go　forward　entirely；　without　consulting　me；—only　about　Eva；—she　requires　watching。”
“She　seems　to　be　a　good　child；　very；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　“I　never　saw　a　better　child。”
“Eva’s　peculiar；”　said　her　mother；　“very。　There　are　things　about　her　so　singular；　she　isn’t　like　me；　now；　a　particle；”　and　Marie　sighed；　as　if　this　was　a　truly　melancholy　consideration。
Miss　Ophelia　in　her　own　heart　said；　“I　hope　she　isn’t；”　but　had　prudence　enough　to　keep　it　down。
“Eva　always　was　disposed　to　be　with　servants；　and　I　think　that　well　enough　with　some　children。　Now；　I　always　played　with　father’s　little　negroes—it　never　did　me　any　harm。　But　Eva　somehow　always　seems　to　put　herself　on　an　equality　with　every　creature　that　comes　near　her。　It’s　a　strange　thing　about　the　child。　I　never　have　been　able　to　break　her　of　it。　St。　Clare；　I　believe；　encourages　her　in　it。　The　fact　is；　St。　Clare　indulges　every　creature　under　this　roof　but　his　own　wife。”
Again　Miss　Ophelia　sat　in　blank　silence。
“Now；　there’s　no　way　with　servants；”　said　Marie；　“but　to　put　them　down；　and　keep　them　down。　It　was　always　natural　to　me；　from　a　child。　Eva　is　enough　to　spoil　a　whole　house…full。　What　she　will　do　when　she　comes　to　keep　house　herself；　I’m　sure　I　don’t　know。　I　hold　to　being　kind　to　servants—I　always　am；　but　you　must　make　’em　know　their　place。　Eva　never　does；　there’s　no　getting　into　the　child’s　head　the　first　beginning　of　an　idea　what　a　servant’s　place　is！　You　heard　her　offering　to　take　care　of　me　nights；　to　let　Mammy　sleep！　That’s　just　a　specimen　of　the　way　the　child　would　be　doing　all　the　time；　if　she　was　left　to　herself。”
“Why；”　said　Miss　Ophelia；　bluntly；　“I　suppose　you　think　your　servants　are　human　creatures；　and　ought　to　have　some　rest　when　they　are　tired。”
“Certainly；　of　course。　I’m　very　particular　in　letting　them　have　everything　that　comes　convenient；—anything　that　doesn’t　put　one　at　all　out　of　the　way；　you　know。　Mammy　can　make　up　her　sleep；　some　time　or　other；　there’s　no　difficulty　about　that。　She’s　the　sleepiest　concern　that　ever　I　saw；　sewing；　standing；　or　sitting；　that　creature　will　go　to　sleep；　and　sleep　anywhere　and　everywhere。　No　danger　but　Mammy　gets　sleep　enough。　But　this　treating　servants　as　if　they　were　exotic　flowers；　or　china　vases；　is　really　ridiculous；”　said　Marie；　as　she　plunged　languidly　into　the　depths　of　a　voluminous　and　pillowy　lounge；　and　drew　towards　her　an　elegant　cut…glass　vinaigrette。
“You　see；”　she　continued；　in　a　faint　and　lady…like　voice；　like　the　last　dying　breath　of　an　Arabian　jessamine；　or　something　equally　ethereal；　“you　see；　Cousin　Ophelia；　I　don’t　often　speak　of　myself。　It　isn’t　my　habit；　’t　isn’t　agreeable　to　me。　In　fact；　I　haven’t　strength　to　do　it。　But　there　are　points　where　St。　Clare　and　I　differ。　St。　Clare　never　understood　me；　never　appreciated　me。　I　think　it　lies　at　the　root　of　all　my　ill　health。　St。　Clare　means　well；　I　am　bound　to　believe；　but　men　are　constitutionally　selfish　and　inconsiderate　to　woman。　That；　at　least；　is　my　impression。”
Miss　Ophelia；　who　had　not　a　small　share　of　the　genuine　New　England　caution；　and　a　very　particular　horror　of　being　drawn　into　family　difficulties；　now　began　to　foresee　something　of　this　kind　impending；　so；　composing　her　face　into　a　grim　neutrality；　and　drawing　out　of　her　pocket　about　a　yard　and　a　quarter　of　stocking；　which　she　kept　as　a　specific　against　what　Dr。　Watts　asserts　to　be　a　personal　habit　of　Satan　when　people　have　idle　hands；　she　proceeded　to　knit　most　energetically；　shutting　her　lips　together　in　a　way　that　said；　as　plain　as　words　could；　“You　needn’t　try　to　make　me　speak。　I　don’t　want　anything　to　do　with　your　affairs；”—in　fact；　she　looked　about　as　sympathizing　as　a　stone　lion。　But　Marie　didn’t　care　for　that。　She　had　got　somebody　to　talk　to；　and　she　felt　it　her　duty　to　talk；　and　that　was　enough；　and　reinforcing　herself　by　smelling　again　at　her　vinaigrette；　she　went　on。
“You　see；　I　brought　my　own　property　and　servants　into　the　connection；　when　I　married　St。　Clare；　and　I　am　legally　entitled　to　manage　them　my　own　way。　St。　Clare　had　his　fortune　and　his　servants；　and　I’m　well　enough　content　he　should　manage　them　his　way；　but　St。　Clare　will　be　interfering。　He　has　wild；　extravagant　notions　about　things；　particularly　about　the　treatment　of　servants。　He　really　does　act　as　if　he　set　his　servants　before　me；　and　before　himself；　too；　for　he　lets　them　make　him　all　sorts　of　trouble；　and　never　lifts　a　finger。　Now；　about　some　things；　St。　Clare　is　really　frightful—he　frightens　me—good…natured　as　he　looks；　in　general。　Now；　he　has　set　down　his　foot　that；　come　what　will；　there　shall　not　be　a　blow　struck　in　this　house；　except　what　he　or　I　strike；　and　he　does　it　in　a　way　that　I　really　dare　not　cross　him。　Well；　you　may　see　what　that　leads　to；　for　St。　Clare　wouldn’t　raise　his　hand；　if　every　one　of　them　walked　over　him；　and　I—you　see　how　cruel　it　would　be　to　require　me　to　make　the　exertion。　Now；　you　know　these　servants　are　nothing　but　grown…up　children。”
“I　don’t　know　anything　about　it；　and　I　thank　the　Lord　that　I　don’t！”　sai