So saying, Milly smoothed the pillow with anxious care, and, kissing Nina on the forehead, departed.
CHAPTER XIII. TOM GORDON.
"I say, Nina," said her brother, coming in, a day or two after, from a survey he had been taking round the premises, "you want me here to manage this place. Everything going at sixes and sevens; and that nigger of a Harry riding round with his boots shining. That fellow cheats you, and feathers his own nest well. I know! These white niggers are all deceitful."
"Come, Tom, you know the estate is managed just as father left word to have it; and Uncle John says that Harry is an excellent manager. I'm sure nobody could have been more faithful to me; and I am very well satisfied."
"Yes, I dare say. All left to you and the executors, as you call them; as if I were not the natural guardian of my sister! Then I come here to put up with that fellow's impudence!"
"Whose?—Harry's? He is never impudent. He is always gentlemanly. Everybody remarks it."
"Gentlemanly! There it is, Nin! What a fool you are to encourage the use of that word in connection with any of your niggers! Gentleman, forsooth! And while he plays gentleman, who takes care? I tell you what, you'll find one of these days how things are going on. But that's just the way! You never would listen to me, or pay the least attention to my advice."
"Oh, Tom, don't talk about that—don't! I never interfere about your affairs. Please leave me the right to manage mine in my own way."