“Well, Hilda, we have some news for you!” With these words, spoken in the triumphant tone of the news-breaker, the Captain greeted his daughter as she came into the drawing-room at half-past six. Odd had been paying his respects to his future parents-in-law, and was sitting near Mrs. Archinard’s sofa. He rose to his feet as Hilda entered and looked at her, smiling a trifle nervously.
“Guess what has happened, my dear,” said the Captain, whose good humor was apparent, while Mrs. Archinard murmured, “She would never guess. Hilda, only look at your hat in the mirror.” It was windy, and Hilda’s shabby little hat was on the back of her head.
“What must I guess? Is it about you?” she asked, turning her sweet bewildered eyes from Odd to her father, to her mother, and back to Odd again.
“Yes, about me and another person.”
“You are going to marry Katherine!” Her eyes dilated and their sweetness deepened to a smile; “you are going to marry Katherine, that must be it.”
“That is it, Hilda. Congratulate me.” He took her hands in his and kissed her. “Welcome me, and tell me you are glad.”
“Oh! I am very glad. I welcome you. I congratulate you!”
“You will like your brother?”
“A brother is dearer than a friend, and you have always been a friend, haven’t you, Mr. Odd?”
“Always, always, Hilda; I didn’t know that you realized it.”
“Did you realize it?”
“Did I, my dear Hilda! I did, I do, I always will.” Hilda’s face seemed subtly irradiated. Her listless look of pallor had brightened wonderfully. No one could have said that the lovely face was dull with this sudden change upon it. Peter felt that he himself was grave in comparison.
“And I am going to claim all a brother’s rights immediately, Hilda.”
“What are a brother’s rights?”
“I am going to look after you, to scold you, to see you don’t overwork yourself.”
“I give you leave, but you mustn’t presume too much on the new rights.”
“Ah! but I have old ones as well.”
“You mustn’t be tyrannical!” she still laughed gently as she withdrew her hands; “I must go and see Katherine.”
“Yes, go and dress now, Hilda.” Mrs. Archinard spoke from the sofa, having watched the scene with a slight air of injury; Hilda’s unwonted gayety constituted a certain grievance. “Mr. Odd dines with us, and I really can’t bear to see you in that costume. The skirt especially is really ludicrous, my dear. I am glad that I don’t see you walking through the streets in it.”
“Hilda knows that her feet bear showing,” remarked the Captain, crossing his own with complacency; “she has her mother’s foot in size and mine in make—the Archinard foot; narrow, arched instep, and small heel.
“Really, Charles, I think the Maxwells will bear the comparison!” Mrs. Archinard, though she smiled, looked distinctly distressed.
Hilda found her sister before the long mirror in her room, Taylor fastening the nasturtium velvet. Katherine always had a commanding air, and it was quite regally apparent to-night; all things seemed made to serve her, and Taylor’s crouching attitude symbolic.
Hilda put her arms around her neck.
“My dear, dear Kathy, I am so glad! To think that good things do come true!”
“You like my choice, pet?”
“No one else would have done,” cried Hilda; “he is the only man I ever saw whom I could have thought of for you. Why, Katherine, from that first day when you told me you had met him at the dinner, I knew it would happen.”
“Yes, I certainly felt a prophetic sense of proprietorship from the first,” Katherine owned musingly. She looked over her sister’s shoulder at the fine outline of her own head and neck in the glass.
“Aren’t you rather splashed and muddy, pet? Poor people can’t afford an affection that puts their velvet gowns in danger. There, I mustn’t rumple my lace.”
“I haven’t hurt, have I?” Hilda stood back hastily. “I forgot, I am rather muddy. And, Katherine, you will help one another so much; that makes it so ideal.”
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading
