produced the illusion,
not merely in Hilda but in herself also, that her pleasure in this very
astonishing encounter was quite peculiarly poignant.

They shook hands, as women of the world.

"Did you know I was here?" Hilda questioned, characteristically on her
guard, with a nervous girlish movement of the leg that perhaps sinned
against the code of authentic worldliness.

"No indeed!" exclaimed Janet.

"Well, I am! I'm engaged here."

"How splendid of you!" said Janet enthusiastically, with no suggestion
whatever in her tone that Hilda's situation was odd, or of dubious
propriety, or aught but enviable.

But Hilda surveyed her with secret envy, transient yet real. In the
half-dozen years that had passed since the days of the dancing-class,
Janet had matured. She was now the finished product. She had the charm
of her sex, and she depended on it. She had grace and an overflowing
goodness. She had a smooth ease of manner. She was dignified. And, with
her furs, and her expensive veil protecting those bright apple-red
cheeks, and all the studied minor details of her costume, she was
admirably and luxuriously attired. She was the usual, as distinguished
from the unusual, woman, brought to perfection. She represented no
revolt against established custom. Doubts and longings did not beset
her. She was content within her sphere: a destined queen of the home.
And yet she could not be accused of being old-fashioned. None would dare
to despise her. She was what Hilda could never be, had never long
desired to be. She was what Hilda had definitely renounced being. And
there stood Hilda, immature, graceless, harsh, inelegant, dowdy, holding
the letter between her inky fingers, in the midst of all that hard
masculine mess,--and a part of it, the blindly devoted subaltern, who
could expect none of the ritual of homage given to women, who must sit
and work and stand and strain and say 'yes,' and pretend stiffly that
she was a sound, serviceable, thick-skinned imitation man among men! If
Hilda had been a valkyrie or a saint she might have felt no envy and no
pang. But she was a woman. Self-pity shot through her tremendous pride;
and the lancinating stab made her inattentive even to her curiosity
concerning the purpose of Janet's visit.

III

"I came to see Mr. Cannon," said Janet. "The housekeeper downstairs told
me he was here somewhere."

"He's engaged," answered Hilda in a low voice, with the devotee's
instinct to surrou