Miss Ophelia did not exactly know what she was expected to answer to this.

While she was thinking what to say, Marie gradually wiped away her tears, and smoothed her plumage in a general sort of way, as a dove might be supposed to make toilet after a shower, and began a housewifely chat with Miss Ophelia, concerning cupboards, closets, linen-presses, store-rooms, and other matters, of which the latter was, by common understanding, to assume the direction,—­giving her so many cautious directions and charges, that a head less systematic and business-like than Miss Ophelia’s would have been utterly dizzied and confounded.

“And now,” said Marie, “I believe I’ve told you everything; so that, when my next sick turn comes on, you’ll be able to go forward entirely, without consulting me;—­only about Eva,—­she requires watching.”

“She seems to be a good child, very,” said Miss Ophelia; “I never saw a better child.”

“Eva’s peculiar,” said her mother, “very.  There are things about her so singular; she isn’t like me, now, a particle;” and Marie sighed, as if this was a truly melancholy consideration.

Miss Ophelia in her own heart said, “I hope she isn’t,” but had prudence enough to keep it down.

“Eva always was disposed to be with servants; and I think that well enough with some children.  Now, I always played with father’s little negroes—­it never did me any harm.  But Eva somehow always seems to put herself on an equality with every creature that comes near her.  It’s a strange thing about the child.  I never have been able to break her of it.  St. Clare, I believe, encourages her in it.  The fact is, St. Clare indulges every creature under this roof but his own wife.”

Again Miss Ophelia sat in blank silence.

“Now, there’s no way with servants,” said Marie, “but to put them down, and keep them down.  It was always natural to me, from a child.  Eva is enough to spoil a whole house-full.  What she will do when she comes to keep house herself, I’m sure I don’t know.  I hold to being kind to servants—­I always am; but you must make ’em know their place.  Eva never does; there’s no getting into the child’s head the first beginning of an idea what a servant’s place is!  You heard her offering to take care of me nights, to let Mammy sleep!  That’s just a specimen of the way the child would be doing all the time, if she was left to herself.”

“Why,” said Miss Ophelia, bluntly, “I suppose you think your servants are human creatures, and ought to have some rest when they are tired.”

“Certainly, of course.  I’m very particular in letting them have everything that comes convenient,—­anything that doesn’t put one at all out of the way, you know.  Mammy can make up her sleep, some time or other; there’s no difficulty about that.  She’s the sleepiest concern that ever I saw; sewing, standing, or sitting, that creature will go to sleep, and sleep anywhere and everywhere.  No danger but Mammy gets sleep enough.  But this treating servants as if they were exotic flowers, or china vases, is really ridiculous,” said Marie, as she plunged languidly into the depths of a voluminous and pillowy lounge, and drew towards her an elegant cut-glass vinaigrette.