do?”
Wondrous, magical man!
“Yes,” he explained. “I used to be at Toms and Scoles’s. I was there when it was made. I copied it.”
“Really!” She felt that he would save her, not only from any possible unpleasant consequences of her escapade, but also from suffering ultimate loss by reason of her mother’s foolishness.
“You’re quite right,” he continued. “I remember it perfectly. Your mother is what we call tenant-for-life; everything goes to you in the end.”
“Well,” Hilda asked abruptly. “All I want to know is, what I can do.”
“Of course, without upsetting your mother?”
He glanced at her. She blushed again.
“Naturally,” she said coldly.
“You say you think the property is going down—it is, everybody knows that—and your mother thinks of collecting the rents herself.... Well, young lady, it’s very difficult, very difficult, your mother being the trustee and executor.”
“Yes, that’s what she’s always saying—she’s the trustee and executor.”
“You’d better let me think it over for a day or two.”
“And shall I call in again?”
“You might slip in if you’re passing. I’ll see what can be done. Of course it would never do for you to have any difficulty with your mother.”
“Oh no!” she concurred vehemently. “Anything would be better than that. But I thought there was no harm in me—”
“Certainly not.”
She had a profound confidence in him. And she was very content so far with the result of her adventure.
“I hope nobody will find out I’ve been here,” she said timidly. “Because if it did get to mother’s ears—”
“Nobody will find out,” he reassured her.
Assuredly his influence was tranquillizing. Even while he insisted on the difficulties of the situation, he seemed to be smoothing them away. She was convinced that he would devise some means of changing her mother’s absurd purpose and of strengthening her own position. But when, at the end of the interview, he came round the large table which separated them, and she rose and looked up at him, close, she was suddenly very afraid of him. He was a tall and muscular man, and he stood like a monarch, and she stood like a child. And his gesture seemed to say: “Yes, I know you are afraid. And I rather like you to be afraid. But I am benevolent in the exercise of my power.” Under his gaze, her gaze fastened on the wire-blind and the dark window, and she read off the reversed letters on the blind.
Like a mouse she escaped to the stairs. She was happy and fearful and expectant.... It was done! She had consulted a lawyer! She was astounded at herself.
In the Market Square it was now black night. She looked shyly up at the lighted wire-blinds over the ironmongery. “I was there!” she said. “He is still there.” The whole town, the whole future, seemed to be drenched now in romance. Nevertheless, the causes of her immense discontent had not apparently been removed nor in any way modified.
Chapter 4
Domesticity Invaded
I
Early in the afternoon, two days later, Hilda came, with an air of reproach, into her mother’s empty bedroom. Mrs. Lessways had contracted a severe cold in the head, a malady to which she was subject and which she accepted with fatalistic submission, even pleasurably giving herself up to it, as a martyr to the rack. Mrs. Lessways’ colds annoyed Hilda, who out of her wisdom could always point to the precise indiscretion which had caused them, and to whom the spectacle of a head wrapped day and night in flannel was offensively ridiculous. Moreover, Hilda in these crises was further and still more acutely exasperated by the pillage of her handkerchiefs. Although she possessed a supply of handkerchiefs far beyond her own needs, she really hated to lend to her mother in the hour of necessity. She did lend, and she lent without spoken protest, but with frigid bitterness. Her youthful passion for order and efficiency was aggrieved by her mother’s negligent and inadequate arrangements for coping with the inevitable plague. She now made a police-visit to the bedroom because she considered that her mother had been demanding handkerchiefs at a stage too early in the progress of the disease. Impossible that her mother should have come to the end of her own handkerchiefs! She knew with all the certitude of her omniscience that numerous clean handkerchiefs must be concealed somewhere in the untidiness of her mother’s wardrobe.
See her as she enters the bedroom, the principal bedroom of the house, whose wide bed and large wardrobe recall the past when she had a father as well as a mother, and when that bedroom awed her footsteps! A thin, brown-frocked girl, wearing a detested but enforced small black apron; with fine, pale, determined features, rather unfeminine hair, and glowering, challenging black eyes. She had a very decided way of putting down her uncoquettishly shod feet. Absurdly young, of course; wistfully young! She was undeveloped, and did not even look nearly twenty-one. You are at liberty to smile at her airs; at that careless critical glance which pityingly said: “Ah! if this were my room, it would be different from what it is;” at that serious worried expression, as if the anxiety of the whole world’s deficiencies oppressed the heart within; and at that supreme conviction of wisdom, which after all was little but an exaggerated perception of folly and inconsistency in others!... She is not to be comprehended on an acquaintance of three days. Years must go to the understanding of her. She did not understand herself. She was not even acquainted with herself. Why! She was naïve enough to be puzzled because she felt older than her mother and younger than her beautiful girlish complexion, simultaneously!
She opened the central mirrored door of the once formidable wardrobe, and as she did so the image of the bed and of half the room shot across the swinging glass, taking the place of her own reflection. And instantly, when she inserted herself between the exposed face of the wardrobe and its door, she was precipitated into the most secret intimacy of her mother’s existence. There was the familiar odour of old kid gloves.... She was more intimate with her mother now than she could ever be in talking to her. The lower part of this section of the wardrobe consisted of three deep drawers with inset brass handles, an exquisitely exact piece of mahogany cabinetwork. From one of the drawers a bit of white linen untidily protruded. Her mother! The upper part was filled with sliding trays, each having a raised edge to keep the contents from falling out. These trays were heaped pell-mell with her mother’s personal belongings—small garments, odd indeterminate trifles, a muff, a bundle of whalebone, veils, bags, and especially cardboard boxes. Quantities of various cardboard boxes! Her mother kept everything, could not bear that anything which had once been useful should be abandoned or destroyed; whereas Hilda’s propensity was to throw away with an impatient gesture whatever threatened to be an encumbrance. Sighing, she began to arrange the contents of the trays in some kind of method. Incompetent and careless mother! Hilda wondered how the old thing managed to conduct her life from day to day with even a semblance of the decency of order. It did not occur to her that for twenty-five years before she was born, and for a long time afterwards, Mrs. Lessways
