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What Answer? by Anna E. Dickinson
page 53 of 250 (21%)
"Yes, she was English."

"Is it rude to ask if your father was the same?

"No!" she answered emphatically, "my papa is a Virginian,--a Virginia
gentleman,"--the last word spoken with an untransferable accent,--"there
are few enough of them."

"So, so!" thought Willie, "here my riddle is read.
Southern--Virginia--gentleman. No wonder she has no love to spend on
country or flag; no wonder we couldn't agree. And yet it can't be
that,--what were the first words I ever heard from her mouth?" and,
remembering that terrible denunciation of the "peculiar institution" of
Virginia and of the South, he found himself puzzled the more.

Just then there came into the picture-gallery, where they were wasting a
pleasant morning, a young man to whom Surrey gave the slightest of
recognitions,--well-dressed, booted, and gloved, yet lacking the
nameless something which marks the gentleman. His glance, as it rested
on Surrey, held no love, and, indeed, was rather malignant.

"That fellow," said Surrey, indicating him, "has a queer story connected
with him. He was discharged from my father's employ to give place to a
man who could do his work better; and the strange part of it"--he
watched her with an amused smile to see what effect the announcement
would have upon her Virginia ladyship--"is that number two is a black
man."

A sudden heat flushed her cheeks: "Do you tell me your father made room
for a black man in his employ, and at the expense of a white one?"
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