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The structure of ideals which Derry's mother had so carefully reared for the old house had been wrecked by one who had first climbed the stairs in the garb of a sister of mercy. He saw his father's future. Hilda, cold as ice, setting his authority aside. He saw the big house, the painted lady smiling no more on the stairs.
It stood at the angle of King's Road and Ship Street, and a chemist's shop occupied the whole of the frontage, the hotel-entrance being in Ship Street; its architecture was fiat and plain, and the place seemed neglected, perhaps unprosperous. "Twenty bow-windows!" murmured George Cannon, and then smiled at himself, as if ashamed of his own naïveté. And Hilda counted the windows.
"He must be got on to the platform, somehow," said Hilda, and glanced at Edwin as if counting absolutely on Edwin. "That's what he's come for. I'm sure it means everything to him." "Aye!" the old man droned. "I was Super when we had to teach 'em their alphabet and give 'em a crust to start with.
'Stop, said Hilda in a determined tone. 'Justice is done and you are here, and you are what you were yesterday and shall be to-morrow, not for me only, but for the whole world. That is the only justice I can understand. 'Hilda, it is wrong, cried Greif. 'I know it is.
But either he had caught the previous train to Knype, or he had driven down. Holding a Gladstone bag and a stick in one hand, he stood talking to another man of about his own age and height. The conversation was vivacious, at any rate on George Cannon's part. Hilda passed close by him amid the populous stir of the expectant platform.
Colonel Armytage, notwithstanding all Morton could say, was determined that he should not enter. He was still holding out against what Ronald was urging, when Rolf Morton and his friends entered the court-yard. "Colonel Armytage, these gentlemen have come expressly to see Sir Marcus Wardhill and his daughter, the Lady Hilda," said Ronald firmly. "I must introduce them.
"She didn't give no trouble." The policeman opened the door. He let Casey, Hilda and O'Rourke pass. He thrust back Brauner and Otto. "No, you don't," he said. "Let us in!" commanded Otto, beside himself with rage. "Not much! Get back!" He had closed the door and was standing between it and them, one hand meaningly upon the handle of his sheathed club.
He had thought to go away, but that would have been unkind to Max, and perhaps have put Hilda in a wrong light in the eyes of those who knew them. No, he was the head of the family. His duty was to sit through the wedding-breakfast which her aunt gave to the bride, and to preside at the feast that welcomed the pair to Schloss Rittenheim.
"Oh yes, I know; I am so glad you were there, to help it out of the suffering." "But now you will never want to come here again, I fear." "Oh, but I shall!" cried Hilda. "I am not so silly as that, truly I am not. I shall always think of this as the loveliest place I know; and " "Well, and what?" asked Roger. "Oh, nothing!
Miriam was the dearest friend whom she had ever known. Being a year or two the elder, of longer acquaintance with Italy, and better fitted to deal with its crafty and selfish inhabitants, she had helped Hilda to arrange her way of life, and had encouraged her through those first weeks, when Rome is so dreary to every newcomer.
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