But Martha was not at all crushed.

"Eh! I can see it's different," she answered almost
sympathetically. "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.