"Let me get some water for you.

You are so white." Sylvia pushed her away.

"There's nothing the matter with me," she said.

"Folks can't always be the same color unless they're painted." She gave her head a shake as if to set herself right, and turned resolutely towards Rose's trunk.

"Can you unpack, yourself, or do you want me to help you ?" she asked.
Rose eyed the trunk helplessly, then she looked doubtfully at Sylvia.
A woman who was a relative of hers, and who lived in a really grand old house, and was presumably well-to-do, and had no maids at command, but volunteered to do the service herself, was an anomaly to her.
"I'm afraid it will be too much trouble," she said, hesitatingly.
"Marie always unpacked my trunk, but you have no--" "I guess if I had a girl I wouldn't set her to unpacking your trunk," said Sylvia, vigorously.