“Well, I’m glad you’re going out; and here,”—and the little girl threw her arms around her,—“Mammy, you shall take my vinaigrette.”
“What! your beautiful gold thing, thar, with them diamonds! Lor, Miss, ’t wouldn’t be proper, no ways.”
“Why not? You need it, and I don’t. Mamma always uses it for headache, and it’ll make you feel better. No, you shall take it, to please me, now.”
“Do hear the darlin talk!” said Mammy, as Eva thrust it into her bosom, and kissing her, ran down stairs to her mother.
“What were you stopping for?”
“I was just stopping to give Mammy my vinaigrette, to take to church with her.”
“Eva” said Marie, stamping impatiently,—“your gold vinaigrette to Mammy! When will you learn what’s proper? Go right and take it back this moment!”
Eva looked downcast and aggrieved, and turned slowly.
“I say, Marie, let the child alone; she shall do as she pleases,” said St. Clare.
“St. Clare, how will she ever get along in the world?” said Marie.