"Did I--mention the lady's name?"
She nodded. "You were talking about Mrs. Fulton," she said in a low
voice, "only you didn't call her that."
"Hilda," I said firmly. "Mrs. Fulton and I are very old
friends--nothing more."
I could see that she didn't believe me, and I changed my tactics.
"You'll not talk, Hilda?"
Her face had resumed its natural color, and she now looked me once more
in the eyes. "I'd sooner die than hurt you, Mr. Archie."
"Why, Hilda----!"
All this time I had been sitting and talking over my shoulder, but now
I got quickly out of my chair, and drew her hands away from her face.
"Oh, Hilda, I _am_ so sorry. What _can_ I do? I'm so sorry, Hilda,
and so proud, too."
She looked up at that.
"You poor child! I feel like a dog, a miserable dog!"
"You couldn't help it, Mr. Archie. You can't help being you. Can you?"
She tried to smile.
"How long," I asked, "has it been like this?"
"Ever since the day I came--three years and two hundred and twenty-one
days ago--and I heard you say to Mrs. Mannering--to your
mother--'Mother,' you said, 'that new maid is as pretty as a picture.'
And that did it!"
"Hilda," I said as quietly as I could, "I'm more touched and flattered
than I can express. I'll be a good friend to you as long as I live.
But--I think I ought to say it, even if it's a cold rough thing to say.
I don't believe I'm ever going to feel the same way about you, and
so----"
"Oh, I know that, but---- Oh, do you still think I'm pretty?"
"_Indeed_ I do. I've always thought that. Always known that."
"Well," she said, speaking very bravely but with a mouth that quivered,
"that's something. I don't lead a very full life, but that's
something."