Part 13 (1/2)

”No one sees much of Hilda, not even her own mother,” said Mrs.

Archinard from her sofa. ”It is terrible indeed to feel oneself a c.u.mberer of the earth, unable to suffice to oneself, far less to others.

With my failing eyesight I simply cannot read by lamplight, and there are three or four hours at this season when I am absolutely without resources. Yet even those hours Hilda cannot give me.”

Hilda now looked so painfully embarra.s.sed that Odd was perforce obliged, for very pity's sake, to avert his eyes from her face.

”Ah, Mr. Odd,” Mrs. Archinard went on, ”you do not know what that is. To lie in the gray dusk and watch one's own gray, gray thoughts.”

”It must be very unpleasant,” Odd owned unwillingly, feeling that his character of old friend was being rather imposed upon; this degree of intimacy was certainly unwarranted.

”Now, mamma, you usually have friends every afternoon,” said Katherine, in her pleasant, even voice. She was preparing some fresh tea. ”You make me as well as Hilda feel a culprit.”

”No, my dear.” Mrs. Archinard's deep sense of acc.u.mulated injury evidently got quite the better of her manners. ”No, my dear, you never _could_ read aloud and never _did_. I never asked it of you. You are really occupied as a girl should be. At all events you fulfil your social duties. You see that people come to see me. As I cannot go out, as Hilda will not, I really don't know what I should do were it not for you. And, as it is, no one came this afternoon until Mr. Odd made his welcome appearance.”

”But Mr. Odd came at five, and you always read till then.” Katherine's voice was gently playful. Hilda had not said one word, and her expression seemed now absolutely dogged.

”At this season, Katherine! You forget that it is night by four! And how a girl with any regard for her mother's wishes can walk about the streets of Paris alone after that hour it pa.s.ses my comprehension to understand.”

”Do you care about bicycling, Mr. Odd?” The change was abrupt but welcome. ”Because I am going to the Bois to-morrow morning, and alone for once.” Katherine smiled at him over the kettle which she was lifting. ”Papa has deserted me.”

”I should enjoy it immensely. And you,” he looked at Hilda, ”won't you come?”

”Oh, I can't,” said Hilda, with a troubled look. ”Thanks so much.”

”Oh no, Hilda can't,” laughed Mrs. Archinard.

”And where is the Captain off to?” queried Peter hastily. He felt that he would like to shake Mrs. Archinard. Hilda's stubborn silence might certainly be irritating, and Odd had sympathy for parental claims and wishes, especially concerning the advisability of a beautiful girl walking in the streets at night unescorted, sacrificed to youthful conceit; but Mrs. Archinard's personality certainly weakened all claims, and her taste was as certainly atrocious.

”Papa,” said Katherine, pouring out the tea, ”is going to-morrow morning to the Riviera. Lucky papa!” Odd thought with some amus.e.m.e.nt of the 120 that const.i.tuted papa's ”luck.” ”I have only been once to Monte Carlo, and I won such a lot. Only imagine how forty pounds turned my head. I revelled in hats and gloves for a whole year. Then we go to-morrow, Mr.

Odd? I have my own bicycle. I have kept it near the Porte Dauphine, and you can hire a very nice one at the same place.”

”May I call for you here at ten, then? Will that suit you?”

”Very well.” Odd watched Katherine as she carried the tea and cake to her sister. Hilda gave a little start.

”O Katherine, how good of you! I didn't realize what you were doing.”

”It is you who are good, my pet,” said Katherine in a low, gentle voice.

Peter thought it a pretty little scene.

”A great deal of lat.i.tude must be granted to the young person who invented that teapot,” he said to Hilda. ”One must work hard to do anything in art, mustn't one? A most lovely teapot, Hilda.”

”I am glad you like it.” Hilda smiled her thanks, but her eyes still expressed that distance and reserve that showed no consciousness of the past, no intention of admitting it as a link to the present. She did not seem exactly shy, but her whole manner was pa.s.sive--negative. Katherine probably thought that Mr. Odd had by this time realized the futility of an attempt to draw out the unresponsive artist, for she seated herself between Odd and the sofa, thus protecting Hilda from Mrs. Archinard's severities and Odd from the ineffectual necessity for talking to Hilda.

Odd thought that were Katherine and Mrs. Archinard not there he might have ”come at” Hilda, but the sense of ease Katherine brought with her was undeniable. She was charmingly mistress of herself, made him talk, appealed prettily to her mother, who even gave more than one melancholy laugh, and, with a tactful give and take, yet kept the reins of conversation well within her own hands.

Odd found her a nice girl, but the undercurrent of his thought dwelt on Hilda, and at every gayety of Katherine's, his eyes sought her sister's face; Hilda's eyes were always fixed on Katherine, and she smiled a certain dumbly admiring smile. As he sat near her, he could see that the little black dress was very shabby. He could not have a.s.sociated Hilda with real untidiness, and indeed the dress with its white linen cuffs and collar, its inevitable grace of severely simple outline, was neat to an almost painful degree. Hilda's artistic proclivities perhaps showed themselves in s.h.i.+ny seams and careful darns and patches.

When he rose to go he took her hands again; he hoped that his persistency did not make him appear rather foolish.