All that
evening her behaviour was strange. As she waited at the supper table
she seemed to be subduing laughter, and in clearing away she for the
first time broke a plate; whereupon she burst into tears, and begged
forgiveness so long and so wearisomely that she had at last to be
ordered out of the room.
On the morrow all was well again; but Bertha could not help watching
that singular countenance, and the more she observed, the less she
liked it.
The more "willing" a servant the more toil did Mrs. Cross exact from
her. When occasions of rebuke or of dispute were lacking, the day
would have been long and wearisome for her had she not ceaselessly
plied the domestic drudge with tasks, and narrowly watched their
execution. The spectacle of this slave-driving was a constant trial
to Bertha's nerves; now and then she ventured a mild protest, but
only with the result of exciting her mother's indignation. In her
mood of growing moral discontent, Bertha began to ask herself
whether acquiescence in this sordid tyranny was not a culpable
weakness, and one day early in the year--a wretched day of
east-wind--when she saw Martha perched on an outer window-sill
cleaning panes, she found the courage to utter resolute disapproval.
"I don't understand you, Bertha," replied Mrs. Cross, the muscles of
her face quivering as they did when she felt her dignity outraged.
"What do we engage a servant for? Are the windows to get so dirty we
can't see through them?"
"They were cleaned not many days ago," said her daughter, "and I
think we could manage to see till the weather's less terrible.
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