“The Lord God done made Miss Rose white,” according to Booger. “But yerly one mornin’ whilst Marse Adam was a-walkin’ in the Gyarden of Eden he done kotch Miss Rose when she was a-turnin’ back her clothes an’ washin’ of her face. Miss Rose was so ’shamed that she turned red. She’s been red ever sence.”
Mrs. Sutton, lying among her pillows, with the morning’s mail scattered over the silken coverlet of her bed, reminded me of a half-opened white rose caught at her toilet and blushing a shell-pink. She was more beautiful than any flower in her garden. Her wide blue eyes were the color of the sky into which I had gazed at sunrise, and as fathomless. Who can fathom the soul of a flippant woman?
When I refused her offer to raise my wages she told me of the housekeeper’s plan for my promotion. When that failed she acted like a spoiled child. She wished to know my reason for leaving, she insisted on knowing, she must know.
Looking at her—she seemed hardly more than a girl—I wondered if it might not be a kindness to give her the reason for my sudden departure. Though of course I had never intended to remain long enough to inherit the housekeeper’s position, I had expected to stay three weeks, perhaps four, and give one week’s notice before leaving. Now I determined to tell her my reason for changing my plans—a reason within itself sufficient to cause any conscientious servant to quit her employ.
I crossed to the foot of her bed and she smiled up at me.
“You really wish to know my reason?” I asked, speaking seriously. She nodded, and, smiling, showed a flash of her perfect teeth. “It is because I don’t care to appear as a witness in a divorce case in which the co-respondent is your husband’s hired servant, your chauffeur.”
She stared at me dumfounded. When she understood her face flamed crimson. Then she sprang up in bed and reached out to ring for her maid.
“You must not do that,” I told her, and I stepped between the head of her bed and the electric buttons. “You may call your housekeeper but not that Frenchwoman.”
“How dare you!” she cried, and her manner was so commonly melodramatic that I almost smiled.
“I know the servants in your house better than you know them yourself,” I told her, still holding my position. “And I shall do my best to protect you from yourself.”