"
"My dear, if we _managed_ so as to give the servant no trouble at
all, the house would soon be in a pretty state. Be so good as not to
interfere. It's really an extraordinary thing that as soon as I find
a girl who almost suits me, you begin to try to spoil her. One would
think you took a pleasure in making my life miserable--"
Overwhelmed with floods of reproach, Bertha had either to combat or
to retreat. Again her nerves failed her, and she left the room.
At dinner that day there was a roast leg of mutton, and, as her
habit was, Mrs. Cross carved the portion which Martha was to take
away for herself. One very small and very thin slice, together with
one unwholesome little potato, represented the servant's meal. As
soon as the door had closed, Bertha spoke in an ominously quiet
voice.
"Mother, this won't do. I am very sorry to annoy you, but if you
call that a dinner for a girl who works hard ten or twelve hours a
day, I don't. How she supports life, I can't understand. You have
only to look into her face to see she's starving. I can bear the
sight of it no longer."
This time she held firm. The conflict lasted for half an hour,
during which Mrs. Cross twice threatened to faint. Neither of them
ate anything, and in the end Bertha saw herself, if not defeated, at
all events no better off than at the beginning, for her mother clung
fiercely to authority, and would obviously live in perpetual strife
rather than yield an inch.
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