Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool was quite upset. Her French maid, on whom she had depended absolutely for five years or more, had left her.
“I think I want to try a colored maid,” she told the Cresswells, laughingly, as they drove home. “They have sweet voices and they can’t doff their uniform. Helene without her cap and apron was often mistaken for a lady, and while I was in New Orleans a French confectioner married her under some such delusion. Now, haven’t you a girl about here who would do?”
“No,” declared Harry decisively, but his sister suggested that she might ask Miss Smith at the colored school.
Again Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool laughed, but after tea she wandered idly down the road. The sun behind the swamp was crimsoning the world. Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool strolled alone to the school, and saw Sarah Smith. There was no cordiality in the latter‚Äôs greeting, but when she heard the caller‚Äôs errand her attention was at once arrested and held. The interests of her charges were always uppermost in her mind.
‚ÄúCan‚Äôt I have the girl Zora?‚Äù Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool at last inquired.
Miss Smith started, for she was thinking of Zora at that very instant. The girl was later than usual, and she was momentarily expecting to see her tall form moving languidly up the walk.
She gave Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool a searching look. Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool glanced involuntarily at her gown and smiled as she did it.
“Could I trust you with a human soul?” asked Miss Smith abruptly.
Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool looked up quickly. The half mocking answer that rose involuntarily to her lips was checked. Within, Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool