When Mrs. ¬ÝHarry Cresswell called a month or so later the talk naturally included mention of Zora. Mary was happy and vivacious, and noted the girl‚Äôs rapid development.
‚ÄúI wonder what I shall make out of her?‚Äù queried Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool. ‚ÄúDo you know, I believe I could mould her into a lady if she were not black.‚Äù
Mary Cresswell laughed. “With that hair?”
“It has artistic possibilities. You should have seen my hairdresser’s face when I told her to do it up. Her face and Zora’s were a pantomime for the gods. Yet it was done. It lay in some great twisted cloud and in that black net gown of mine Zora was simply magnificent. Her form is perfect, her height is regal, her skin is satin, and my jewels found a resting place at last. Jewels, you know, dear, were never meant for white folk. I was tempted to take her to the box at the opera and let New York break its impudent neck.”
Mary was shocked.
‚ÄúBut, Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool,‚Äù she protested, ‚Äúis it right? Is it fair? Why should you spoil this black girl and put impossible ideas into her head? You can make her a perfect maid, but she can never be much more in America.‚Äù
‚ÄúShe is a perfect maid now; that‚Äôs the miracle of it‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe‚Äôs that deft and quick and quiet and thoughtful! The hotel employees think her perfect; my friends rave‚ÅÝ‚Äîreally, I‚Äôm the most blessed of women. But do you know I like the girl? I‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, I think of her future.‚Äù
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs wrong to treat her as you do. You make her an equal. Her room is one of the best and filled with books and bric-a-brac. She sometimes eats with you‚ÅÝ‚Äîis your companion, in fact.‚Äù