which pityingly said: "Ah! if this were my room, it would be different
from what it is;" at that serious worried expression, as if the anxiety
of the whole world's deficiencies oppressed the heart within; and at
that supreme conviction of wisdom, which after all was little but an
exaggerated perception of folly and inconsistency in others!... She is
not to be comprehended on an acquaintance of three days. Years must go
to the understanding of her. She did not understand herself. She was not
even acquainted with herself. Why! She was naïve enough to be puzzled
because she felt older than her mother and younger than her beautiful
girlish complexion, simultaneously!

She opened the central mirrored door of the once formidable wardrobe,
and as she did so the image of the bed and of half the room shot across
the swinging glass, taking the place of her own reflection. And
instantly, when she inserted herself between the exposed face of the
wardrobe and its door, she was precipitated into the 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