Constance expressed a wish that Mrs. Crane might be in Washington the next winter, and Annette quietly replied that she expected to be. Thorndyke then began telling her of his amusement at watching Constance, with five servants, working like a Trojan for them. “Of course, you, with your cool Northern temperament, cannot understand the negro,” replied Constance, good-humouredly. “You would expect a negro to work when he could help it. What a delusion! Suppose I had trusted Scipio or Charles to buy those tickets and get those horses aboard, and meanwhile a street-band had come along?” “I suppose Scipio or Charles would have got the tickets and attended to the horses just the same,” answered Thorndyke. “Do you? That shows your utter density regarding Scipio and Charles. I daresay you thought it very amusing that I should work for my servants.” “I did.” “They work for me when I want them and make them--that is, they work in a certain way--_their_ way. And I suppose you would have that United States flag pin off Scipio’s bosom and that cane with the red, white, and blue ribbons out of Charles’s hand if you were travelling to Newport with them.” “I am afraid I should.” “And you could not stand the wreaths of red roses on the hats of my two maids?” “I am quite sure I couldn’t.” “Then, Mr. Thorndyke, stop legislating for the negroes, because you know nothing about them.” “I admit,” said Thorndyke, “that the patience and indulgence of Southerners toward negroes has always amazed and charmed me. But I believe the negro would be better off if he were made to assume greater responsibilities.” “Go to. Can the Ethiopian change his skin?” Just then, Mr. James Brentwood Baldwin and Eleanor sauntered into the state-room of the car. They were to join a yachting party at Old Point Comfort. They spoke distantly and coolly to both Constance and Thorndyke--the memory of Senator Mince Pie Mulligan’s candid praise of “ould Danny Hogan at th’ corner grocery” was still a green and smarting wound in their breasts. Mr. Baldwin’s English valet and Eleanor’s French maid were doing everything possible for the comfort of their master and mistress and with perfect intelligence. Thorndyke smilingly indicated it, but Constance shook her head. “I am always hearing complaints about French and English servants in this country, but we who are accustomed to negro servants never complain of them.” “Because you never require anything of them; however,” added Thorndyke, “I’ll admit there seems to be a comfortable sort of arrangement between you. It would drive any but Southern people mad, but you don’t seem to mind it.”