As for Mrs. Lessways, she was shocked, for her project had seemed very
beautiful to her, and for the moment she was perfectly convinced that
she could collect rents and manage property as well as anyone. She was
convinced that her habits were regular, her temper firm and tactful, and
her judgment excellent. She was more than shocked; she was wounded. She
wept, as she pushed forward Hilda's replenished cup.

"You ought to take shame!" she murmured weakly, yet with certitude.

"Why?" said Hilda, feigning simplicity. "What have I said? _I_ didn't
begin. You asked me. I can't help what I think."

"It's your tone," said Mrs. Lessways grievously.


III

Despite all Hilda's terrible wisdom and sagacity, this remark of the
foolish mother's was the truest word spoken in the discussion. It was
Hilda's tone that was at the root of the evil. If Hilda, with the
intelligence as to which she was secretly so complacent, did not
amicably rule her mother, the unavoidable inference was that she was
either a clumsy or a wicked girl, or both. She indeed felt dimly that
she was a little of both. But she did not mind. Sitting there in the
small, familiar room, close to the sewing-machine, the steel fender, the
tarnished chandelier, and all the other daily objects which she at once
detested and loved, sitting close to her silly mother who angered her,
and yet in whom she recognized a quality that was mysteriously precious
and admirable, staring through the small window at the brown, tattered