"I suppose it's about property or something," Hilda replied, blushing.
Never had she felt so abject in front of her mother.

Mrs. Lessways rapidly unpinned the flannel petticoat and then threw it,
with a desperate gesture of sacrifice, on to the deal table. The
situation had to be met. The resplendent male awaited her in the
death-cold room. The resplendent male had his overcoat, but she,
suffering, must face the rigour and the risk unprotected. No matter if
she caught bronchitis! The thing had to be done. Even Hilda did not
think of accusing her mother of folly. Mrs. Lessways having patted her
hair, emptied several handkerchiefs from the twin pockets of her
embroidered black apron, and, snatching at the clean handkerchief
furnished by Hilda, departed to her fate. She was certainly startled and
puzzled, but she was not a whit intimidated, and the perception of this
fact inspired Hilda with a new, reluctant respect for her mother.

Hilda, from the kitchen, heard the greetings in the drawing-room, and
then the reverberations of the sufferer's nose. She desired to go into
the drawing-room. Her mother probably expected her to go in. But she
dared not. She was afraid.

"I was wondering," said the voice of Mr. Cannon, "whether you've ever
thought of selling your Calder Street property, Mrs. Lessways." And then
the drawing-room door was closed, and the ticking of the grandfather's
clock resumed possession of the lobby.




CHAPTER V