"Is that you?" her mother asked, in a queer, foolish tone.

They kissed. Such a candid peacemaking had never occurred between them
before. Mrs. Lessways, as simple in forgiveness as in wrath, did not
disguise her pleasure in the remarkable fact that it was Hilda who had
made the overture. Hilda thought: "How strange I am! What is coming over
me?" She glanced at the range, in which was a pale gleam of red, and
that gleam, in the heavy twilight, seemed to her to be inexpressibly,
enchantingly mournful. And she herself was mournful about the future--
very mournful. She saw no hope. Yet her sadness was beautiful to her.
And she was proud.




CHAPTER III
MR. CANNON


I

A little later Hilda came downstairs dressed to go out. Her mother was
lighting a glimmer of gas in the lobby. Ere Mrs. Lessways could descend
from her tiptoes to her heels and turn round Hilda said quickly,
forestalling curiosity:

"I'm going to get that thread you want. Just give me some money, will
you?"

Nobody could have guessed from her placid tone and indifferent demeanour