“He is blacker than I am,” Ivy laughed.
“Well, how would you like to be called a ‘colored person’?”
“But I’m not. And calling me so wouldn’t make me one.”
“And he is not one. And calling him so doesn’t make him one.”
“He’s Chinese,” Ivy persisted.
“Who said he wasn’t?” Miss Julia persisted too. “And—if I get at your meaning, and I think I do—you think it inappropriate that you should associate with a Chinese gentleman on just the same terms as with a French or Spanish gentleman. Isn’t that it?”
“There is a difference,” Ivy urged.
“Humph!” said Miss Julia.
“I don’t think Uncle Lysander liked waiting on him,” the girl ventured.
“Indeed?” Miss Townsend spoke crisply. “I give my blacks their orders. I am not concerned with their race-prejudices, or disturbed by their likes or dislikes—so long as they do not display them. And it never has occurred to me to consult Lysander as to what guests I should or should not receive.”