Hilda Lessways

go and Is

ot with impunity may nature be flouted in unheated October drawing-rooms; and Hilda had been requested to go to market alone. She was free. And even supposing that the visit sh

cker, which dangled a little below the frilled and flounced edge of her blue jacket. Secure in the pocket of her valanced brown skirt—for at that time and in that place it had not yet occurred to any woman that pockets were a superfluity—a private

conviction, “That girl is not happy! What a pity!” It was so. And yet, in her unhappiness she was blest. She savoured her unhappiness. She drank it down passionately, as though it were the very water of life—which it was. She lived to the utmost in every moment. The recondite romance of existence was not hidden from her. The sudden creation—her creation—of the link with Mr. Cannon seemed to her surpassingly strange and romantic; and in so regarding it she had no ulterior thought whatever: she looked on

he was wearing a silk hat and a too ample frock-coat. And immediately, from

rke

pe, but she could not, chiefly because her pride wou

could hear that Mr. Cannon had joined him i

calm politeness, turning from Mr. Karkeek, who raised hi

uck her just as much as the contrast between their demeanours; and she felt, vaguely, the oddness of the fact that the name of the deferential Mr. Karkeek, and not the name of the commanding Mr. Cannon, should be upon the door-plates and the wire-blinds of the establishment. But of course she was not in a position to estimate the full significance of

ting thereon upside down. There also was his blotting-pad, and his vast inkstand, and his pens, and his thick diary. The disposition of the things on the desk seemed to indicate, sharply and incontrovertibly, th

ther similar thin books filled up the remainder of the shelf. She stared, with the factitious interest of one who is very nervously awaiting an encounter, at the titles, and presently deciphered the words, ‘Victor Hugo,’ on each of the thin volumes. Her interest instantly became real. Characteristically abrupt and

sourit et

nt vers qu

e vous so

con

où tout é

ien n’est

e vous so

cha

dans l’ombr

ent deux b

e tu sois

joy

to her pupils for learning by heart. It was Miss Miranda’s sole French poem, and she imposed it with unfading delight on the successive generations whom she ‘grounded’ in French. Hilda had apparently forgotten most of her French, but as she now read the poem (for the first time in print), it reestablished itself in her memory as the most lovely verse that she had ever known, and the recitations of it in Miss Miranda’s small classroom came back to her with an effect beautiful and tragic. And also there was the name of Victor Hugo, which Miss Miranda’s insistent enthusiasm had rendered sublime and legendary to a sensitive child! Hilda now saw the sacr

i

your mother’

es

ust asked her what she was going

with na?ve admiration. To admire him was agreeable to her; and she liked also to feel unimportant in his presence. But she fought, unsuccessfully, against the humiliating ide

, this time, to indicate humorously that Mrs. Lessways was not so easy to handle as mig

mphasis that showed a lack of conviction. Indeed, she

, the noises of the market-place made themselves prominent, quite agreeably—in particular the hard metallic stamping and slipping, on the bricked pavement under the window, of a team of cart-horses that were being turned in a space too small for their grand, free movements, and the good-humoured cracking of a whip. Again Hilda was

when I saw you at our doo

s half expecting him to say some such thing. But he became

ll me you thou

early ready to buy that Calder Street property. And I thought I’d talk that over with your mother first! It

He had not been guilty of mere scheming. She was profoundly glad. The act

id Hilda, to whom the owner

nsent would be nec

rcely surprised by this information. “I should consen

don’t think your mother would care

ing her confession and

bruptly, and yet girlishly timid. And at the same moment she dr

lecting, but the appearance of the purse explained her meaning. “O

ay you someth

ou mus

Her glance failed her. She was disconcerted by the sudden demonstration of her inferiority. She was distressed. And then a feeling of faintness, and the gathering of a mist in the air, positively frightened her. The mist clea

ind of you,”

Don’t forget that. We don’t collect rents for nothin

r basket and ros

emarked, putting his right hand negligently into

anged in an instant to a delicate, startled timidity. All the complex sensitiveness of her nature was expressed simultaneously in the changing tints of her face, the confusion of

and, taking out the volu

o wonderful as all that. My father used to give her lessons in French. This Hugo was his. He thought a great deal of it.” Mr. Cannon’s pose exhibited pride, but it was obvious that he did not share his father’s taste. His tone rather patronized h

very one!”

ticed the thin ribbon almost concealed in the jointure of the pages. “I wouldn’t

ense of the miraculousness of life was not

e very fond of r

, to meet his with defiance, like a ship lifting its prow above the

reader. What do you do with yourself?” He now spok

e saw that he was puzzled, interested, and piqu

he benevolent tone of an uncle or even a great-unc

d,” she retorted obstinatel

at do yo

relief, even pleasure, in thus call

azed at her, apparently in meditation

ght to do. You ought to

y?” She was

’s shorthand

yes. I’ve heard

ce grew warm and his glance scintillated. And now Hilda understood her mother’s account of his p

?” she inquired, with her str

in shorthand as fast as ever I could read to him, and then he read out what he’d written, without a single slip. I’m having one of my chaps taught. I’m paying for the lessons. I thought of learning myself—yes, really! Oh! It’s a thing that’ll revolutionize all business and secr

future; she saw the philosopher’s stone. She saw a new religion that had already begun to work like leaven in the town. The revelation was deliciously intoxicating. She was converted, as by lightning. She yielded to the ecstasy of discipleship. Here—s

said, low, with the venturesome s

he repeated more slowly—“I’ve got something coming along pretty soon, where there’ll be scope for a young lady that can write sho

at could be done about your mother—and look at what I did, and how quickly and easily I did it! When I

about Mr. Da

ow,” said Hi

e said. “I dare say it would intere

h

turn it, wh

She had too hastily assumed that

n appeal, boyish, wistful, supplicating. It was irresistible, complet

tiny part of her brain was, as it were, automatically exploring a box of old books in the attic at home and se

o your mother,” h

at him que

lf, with an avuncular, ironic smile. “You’

altitudes she had to bring her mind to marketing. Sh