mortification and repressed vexation, and the sarcastic curl of the lip, as he spoke.
"Now, Mammy has always been a pet with me," said Marie. "I wish some of your northern servants could look at her closets of dresses,—silks and muslins, and one real linen cambric, she has hanging there. I've worked sometimes whole afternoons, trimming her caps, and getting her ready to go to a party. As to abuse, she don't know what it is. She never was whipped more than once or twice in her whole life. She has her strong coffee or her tea every day, with white sugar in it. It's abominable, to be sure; but St. Clare will have high life below-stairs, and they every one of them live just as they please. The fact is, our servants are over-indulged. I suppose it is partly our fault that they are selfish, and act like spoiled children; but I've talked to St. Clare till I am tired."
"And I, too," said St. Clare, taking up the morning paper.
Eva, the beautiful Eva, had stood listening to her mother, with that expression of deep and mystic earnestness which was peculiar to her. She walked softly round to her mother's chair, and put her arms round her neck.
"Well, Eva, what now?" said Marie.
"Mamma, could n't I take care of you one night—just one? I know I should n't make you nervous, and I shouldn't sleep. I often lie awake nights, thinking—"
"O, nonsense, child—nonsense!" said Marie; "you are such a strange child!"
"But may I, mamma? I think," she said, timidly, "that Mammy is n't well. She told me her head ached all the time, lately."
"O, that's just one of Mammy's fidgets! Mammy is just
