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. You know nothing about anything!"