white lights flashing sharply in the pale, clean blue of her eyes.
Her bearing was full of the strange coquetry of anger and of fear,
the stiffness, the bridling, the suggestive movement underneath the
rigidness of forced control, all the queer ways the passions have to
show themselves all one.

"Miss Mary," the words came slowly with thick utterance and with
jerks, but always firm and strong. "Miss Mary, I can't stand it
any more like this. When you tell me anything to do, I do it. I do
everything I can and you know I work myself sick for you. The blue
dressings in your room makes too much work to have for summer. Miss
Jane don't know what work is. If you want to do things like that I go
away."

Anna stopped still. Her words had not the strength of meaning
they were meant to have, but the power in the mood of Anna's soul
frightened and awed Miss Mary through and through.

Like in all large and helpless women, Miss Mary's heart beat weakly in
the soft and helpless mass it had to govern. Little Jane's excitements
had already tried her strength. Now she grew pale and fainted quite
away.

"Miss Mary!" cried Anna running to her mistress and supporting all her
helpless weight back in the chair. Little Jane, distracted, flew about
as Anna ordered, bringing smelling salts and brandy and vinegar and
water and chafing poor Miss Mary's wrists.

Miss Mary slowly opened her mild eyes. Anna sent the weeping little
Jane out of the room. She herself managed to get Miss Mary quiet on