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 happiness of adventure. She had
slipped out for a moment from the confined and stifling circle of
domestic dailiness. She had scented the feverish perfume of the world.
And she owed all this to herself alone! She meant on the morrow, while
her mother was marketing, to pursue the enterprise; the consciousness of
this intention was sweet, but she knew not why it was sweet. She only
knew that she lived in the preoccupation of a dream.