They always treated me from this time as a young friend, who
conferred a favor on them by coming. My salary seemed to pass into my
hand with the freedom of a gift. Perhaps it was that Uncle Geoffrey
was such an old and valued friend, and that Miss Ruth knew that in
point of birth the Camerons were far above the Lucases, for we were
an old family whom misfortune had robbed of our honors.

However this may be, my privileges were many, and the yoke of
service lay lightly on my shoulders. Poor Carrie, indeed, had to eat
the bitter bread of dependence, and to take many a severe rebuke from
her employer. Mrs. Thorne was essentially a vulgar-minded woman. She
was affected by the adventitious adjuncts of life; dress, mere
station and wealth weighed largely in her view of things. Because we
were poor, she denied our claim to equality; because Carrie taught
her children, she snubbed and repressed her, to keep her in her
place, as though Carrie were a sort of Jack-in-the-box to be jerked
back with every movement.

When Miss Ruth called on mother, Mrs. Thorne shrugged her shoulders,
and wondered at the liberality of some people's views. When we were
asked to dinner at the Cedars (I suppose Mrs. Smedley told her, for
Carrie never gossiped), Mrs. Thorne's eye brows were uplifted in a
surprised way. Her scorn knew no bounds when she called one
afternoon, and saw Carrie seated at Miss Ruth's little tea-table; she
completely ignored her through the visit, except to ask once after
her children's lessons. Carrie took her snubbing meekly, and seemed
perfectly indifferent. Her quiet lady-like bearing seemed to impress
Miss Ruth most favorably, for when Carrie took her leave she kissed
her, a thing she had never done before. I looked across at Mrs.
Thorne, and saw her tea-cup poised half-way to her lips. She was