"It is even so."

"Is he there now?"

Surrey's beautiful Saxon face crimsoned. "No: he is not," he said
reluctantly.

"Ah! did he, this black man,--did he not do his work well?"

"Admirably."

"Is it allowable, then, to ask why he was discarded?"

"It is allowable, surely. He was dismissed because the choice lay
between him and seven hundred men."

"And you"--her face was very pale now, the flush all gone out of
it--"you have nothing to do with your father's works, but you are his
son,--did you do naught? protest, for instance?"

"I protested--and yielded. The contest would have been not merely with
seven hundred men, but with every machinist in the city. Justice
_versus_ prejudice, and prejudice had it; as, indeed, I suppose it will
for a good many generations to come: invincible it appears to be in the
American mind."

"Invincible! is it so?" She paused over the words, scrutinizing him
meanwhile with an unconscious intensity.