“Ah,” said Mrs. Winthrop, “that is something I have often talked about with Southern people. The reason is that in the South you have a social class which is definitely separated by color, and which never thinks of crossing the line. But in the North, my dear, our servants look like us, and it’s not quite so simple drawing the line.”
“Oh, but I’m not talking of servants, Mrs. Winthrop. I mean here, within the boundaries of a college class. Your servants do not go to college.”
The other laughed. “But they do,” she said.
“Oh, surely not!”
“It costs a hundred and fifty dollars a year to go to Harvard. Any man can come, black or white, who can borrow the money. He may come, and earn his living while he’s here by tending furnaces. As a matter of fact, there’s a man in the class with Douglas van Tuiver whose father is a butler.”
“You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Sylvia.
“A man,” said Mrs. Winthrop, “named Firmin.”
Sylvia was aghast. “Tom Firmin!”
“Yes. Have you heard of him before?”
She answered in a faint voice, “Yes,” and then was silent.