Part 10 (1/2)

Alicia looked as if this would be a little troublesome, and not quite worth while to follow.

”The happiness of his whole life is involved,” she said, simply.

”Oh dear yes--the old story! And what about the happiness of yours? Do you imagine it's laudable, admirable, this att.i.tude? Do you see yourself in it with pleasure? Have you got a sacred satisfaction of self-praise?”

Contempt acc.u.mulated in Miss Howe's voice and sat in her eyes. To mark her climax, she kicked her slipper over the end of the bed.

”It is idiotic--it's disgusting,” she said.

Alicia caught a flash from her. ”My att.i.tude!” she cried. ”What in the world do you mean? Do you always think in poses? I take no att.i.tude. I care for him, and in that proportion I intend that he shall have what he wants--so far as I can help him to it. You have never cared for anybody--what do you know about it?”

Hilda took a calm, unprejudiced view of the ceiling. ”I a.s.sure you I'm not an angel,” she cried. ”Haven't I cared? Several times.”

”Not really--not lastingly.”

”I don't know about really; certainly not lastingly. I've never thought the men should have a monopoly of nomadic susceptibilities. They entail the prettiest experiences.”

”Of course, in your profession----”

”Don't be nasty, sweet lady. My affections have never taken the opportunities of our profession. They haven't even carried me into matrimony, though I remember once, at Sydney, they brought me to the brink. _Quelle escape!_ We must contrive one like it for Duff Lindsay.”

”You a.s.sume too much--a great deal too much. She must be beautiful--and good.”

”Give me a figure. She's a lily, and she draws the kind of beauty that lilies have from her personal chast.i.ty and her religious enthusiasm.

Touch those things and bruise them, as--as marriage would touch and bruise them--and she would be a mere fragment of stale vegetation. You want him to clasp that to his bosom for the rest of his life?”

”I won't believe you. You're coa.r.s.e and you're cruel.”

Tears flashed into Miss Livingstone's eyes with this. Hilda, still regarding the ceiling, was aware of them, and turned an impatient shoulder while they should be brushed undetected away.

”I'm sorry, dear,” she said. ”I forgot. You are usually so intelligent, one can be coa.r.s.e and cruel with comfort, talking to you. Go into the bath-room and get my salts--they're on the washhand-stand--will you? I'm quite faint with all I'm about to undergo.”

Laura Filbert came in as Alicia emerged with the salts. Ignoring the third person with the bottle, she went directly to the bedside and laid her hand on Hilda's head.

”Oh, Miss Howe, I am so sorry you are sick--so sorry,” she said. It was a cooing of professional concern, true to an ideal, to a necessity.

”I am not very bad,” Hilda improvised. ”Hardly more than a headache.”

”She makes light of everything,” Miss Filbert said, smiling toward Alicia, who stood silent, the prey of her impression. Discovering the blue salts bottle, Laura walked over to her and took it from her hands.

”And what,” said the barefooted Salvation Army girl, ”might your name be?”

There was an infinite calm interest in it--it was like a conventionality of the other world, and before its a.s.surance Alicia stood helpless.

”Her name is Livingstone,” called Hilda from the bed, ”and she is as good as she is beautiful. You needn't be troubled about _her_ soul--she takes Communion every Sunday morning at the Cathedral.”

”Hallelujah!” said Captain Filbert, in a tone of dubious congratulation.

”Much better,” said Hilda, cheerfully, ”to take it at the Cathedral, you know, than nowhere.”

Miss Filbert said nothing to this, but sat down upon the edge of the bed, looking serious, and stroked Hilda's hair.