"Good gracious, Gertrude, do stop! if there's anything I hate, it is an argument. It is clearly none of our business to take her up, if her own people don't do it. Come, go to La Temps with me, and get an ice. What a love of a collar you have on; it is handsomer than mine, which I gave fifty dollars for, but what is fifty dollars, when one fancies a thing? If I didn't make my husband's money fly, his second wife would; so I will save her ladyship that trouble;" and with an arch toss of her plumed head, the speaker and her companion entered the famous saloon of La Temps, where might be seen any sunny day, between the hours of twelve and three, the disgusting spectacle of scores of ladies devouring, _ad infinitum_, brandy-drops, Roman punch, Charlotte Russe, pies, cakes, and ices; and sipping "parfait amour," till their flushed cheeks and emancipated tongues prepared them to listen and reply to any amount of questionable nonsense from their attendant roué cavaliers. CHAPTER XLII. "Some folks' pride runs in queer streaks," said Betty, as she turned a beefsteak on the gridiron; "if I lived in such a grand house as this, and had so many fine clothes, I wouldn't let my poor cousin stand every Monday in my kitchen, bending over the wash-tub, and rubbing out her clothes and her children's, with my servants, till the blood started from her knuckles." "Do you know what dis chil' would do, if she were Missis Ruth Hall?" asked Gatty. "Well, she'd jess go right up on dat shed fronting de street, wid 'em, and hang 'em right out straight before all de grand neighbors, and shame Missus Millet; dat's what _dis_ chil' would do." "Poor Mrs. Ruth, she knows too much for that," replied Betty; "she shoulders that great big basket of damp clothes and climbs up one, two, three, four flights of stairs to hang them to dry in the garret. Did you see her sit down on the stairs last Monday, looking so pale about the mouth, and holding on to her side, as if she never would move again?" "Yes, yes," said Gatty, "and here now, jess look at de fust peaches of de season, sent in for dessert; de Lor' he only knows what dey cost, but niggers musn't see noffing, not dey, if dey wants to keep dere place. But white folks _is_ stony-hearted, Betty." "Turn that steak over," said Betty; "now get the pepper; work and talk too, that's _my_ motto. Yes, Gatty, I remember when Mrs. Ruth's husband used to ride up to the door of a fine morning, and toss me a large bouquet for Mrs. Millet, which Mrs. Ruth had tied up for her, or hand me a box of big strawberries, or a basket of plums, or pears, and how all our folks here would go out there and stay as long as they liked, and use the horses, and pick the fruit, and the like of that." "Whar's her brudder, Massa Hyacinth? Wonder if _he_ knows how tings is gwyin on?" asked Gatty.