e most secret
intimacy of her mother's existence. There was the familiar odour of old
kid gloves.... She was more intimate with her mother now than she could
ever be in talking to her. The lower part of this section of the
wardrobe consisted of three deep drawers with inset brass handles, an
exquisitely exact piece of mahogany cabinetwork. From one of the drawers
a bit of white linen untidily protruded. Her mother! The upper part was
filled with sliding trays, each having a raised edge to keep the
contents from falling out. These trays were heaped pell-mell with her
mother's personal belongings--small garments, odd indeterminate trifles,
a muff, a bundle of whalebone, veils, bags, and especially cardboard
boxes. Quantities of various cardboard boxes! Her mother kept
everything, could not bear that anything which had once been useful
should be abandoned or destroyed; whereas Hilda's propensity was to
throw away with an impatient gesture whatever threatened to be an
encumbrance. Sighing, she began to arrange the contents of the trays in
some kind of method. Incompetent and careless mother! Hilda wondered how
the old thing managed to conduct her life from day to day with even a
semblance of the decency of order. It did not occur to her that for
twenty-five years before she was born, and for a long time afterwards,
Mrs. Lessways had contrived to struggle along through the world, without
her daughter's aid, to the general satisfaction of herself and some
others. At length, ferreting on the highest shelf but one, she had the
deep, proud satisfaction of the philosopher who has correctly deduced
consequences from character. Underneath a Paisley shawl she discovered a
lost treasure of clean handkerchiefs. One, two, three, four--there were
eleven! And among them was one of her own, appropriated by her mother
through sheer inexcusable inadvertence. They had probably been lying
under the shawl for weeks, months!

Still, she did not allow herself to be vexed. Since the singular
hysterical embrace in the twilight of the kitchen, she had felt for her
mother a curious, kind, forbearing, fatalistic indulgence. "Mother is
like that, and there you are!" And further, her mood had been so changed
and uplifted by excitement and expectation that she could not be
genuinely harsh. She had been thrilled by the audacity of the visit to
Mr. Cannon. And though she hoped from it little but a negative
advantage, she was experiencing the rare happines