She seemed to hearken while I represented mildly the expediency of learning to do her part in life well and creditably; how conscience entered into the performance of duties some people considered mean; how, in this country, a washerwoman is as worthy as the President's wife, so long as she respects herself.
Norah's impassive face had not changed, but she interposed here: "Beg pardon, ma'am! I've no thought of taking a hand with the washing." I was silly enough to go on with what I had tried to make so plain that the wayfaring "living-out girl" could not err in taking it in.

I was willing to train her in the duties of her station.

I set forth, and would have specified what these were, but for a second interruption that was evidently not intentionally disrespectful, and was uttered with the bovine stolidity that never forsook her.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but I've always understood that all that made a lady in Ameriky was eddercation, an' shure I have that 's well 's you!" She could read, or so I suppose, although I never saw a book in her hand, and could probably write, after the fashion of her class.
With a smile at my folly that struggled with a sigh over hers, I let her go.

It was my fault not hers, that I had bruised my fists thumping against a stone wall.

Had I discoursed to her in Bengalee she would have comprehended me no more imperfectly.