Part 27 (1/2)
”Oh, he isn't tired. See how he pulls at his cord. The sunlight is getting into his veins. What delicious air.”
”The sunlight is getting into your veins too, Hilda. You are looking a little as you should look.”
Hilda did not ask him how she should look. It was an original characteristic of Hilda's that she did not seem at all anxious to talk about herself, and Odd continued, looking down at her profile--
”That's what you ought to have--sunlight. You are a little white flower that has grown in a shadow.” Hilda did not glance up at him; she smiled rather distantly.
”What a sad simile!”
”Is it a true one, Hilda?”
”I don't think so. I never thought of myself in that sentimental light.
I suppose to friendly eyes every life has a certain pathos.”
”No; some lives are too evidently and merely flaunting in the sunlight for even friendly eyes to poetize--to sentimentalize, as you rather unkindly said.”
”Sunlight is poetic, too.”
”Success and selfishness, and all the commonplaces that make up a happy life, are not poetic.”
”That is rather morbid, you know--_decadent_.”
”I don't imply a fondness for illness and wrongness. Rather the contrary. It is a very beautiful rightness that keeps in the shade to give others the suns.h.i.+ne.”
Hilda's eyes were downcast, and in her look a certain pale reserve that implied no liking for these personalities--personalities that glanced from her to others, as Odd realized.
He paused, and it was only after quite a little silence that Hilda said, with all her gentle quiet--
”You must not imagine that I am unhappy, or that my life has been an unhappy life. It is very good of you to trouble about it, but I can't claim the rather self-righteously heroic _role_ you give me. I think it is others who live in the shadow. I think that any work, however feebly done, is a happy thing. I find so much pleasure in things other people don't care about.”
”A very nicely delivered little snub, Hilda. You couldn't have told me to mind my own business more kindly.” Odd's humorous look met her glance of astonished self-reproach. He hastened on, ”Will you try to find pleasure in a thing most girls _do_ care for? Will you go to the Meltons' dance on Monday? Katherine told me I must go, this morning, and I said I would try to persuade you.”
”I _didn't_ mean to snub you.”
”Very well; convince me of it by saying you will come to the dance.”
The girlish pleasure of her face was evident.
”Do you really want me to?”
”It would make me very happy.”
”It is against my rules, you know. I can't get up at six and go out in the evening besides. But I will make an exception for this once, to show you I wasn't snubbing you! And, besides, I should love to.” The gayety of her look suddenly fell to hesitation. ”Only I am afraid I can't. I remember I haven't any dress.”
”_Any_ dress will do, Hilda.”
”But I haven't any dress. The gray silk is impossible.”
Peter's mind made a most unmasculine excursion into the position.