had known as children. Crow's-feet and breaking contour and thin hair in
those we have known only as grown people, do not affect us; but the same
signs in lifelong acquaintances make it impossible to ignore Decay
holding up the mirror to us and pointing to aging mouth and throat, as he
wags his hideous head and says, "Soon--_you_, too!"

Hiram saw Matilda and his daughter the instant they appeared on the
balcony, but he gave no hint of it until they were in the path of his
monotonous march. He was nerving himself for Mrs. Whitney as one nerves
himself in a dentist's chair for the descent of the grinder upon a
sensitive tooth. Usually she got no further than her first sentence
before irritating him. To-day the very sight of her filled him with
seemingly causeless anger. There was a time when he, watching Matilda
improve away from her beginnings as the ignorant and awkward daughter of
the keeper of a small hotel, had approved of her and had wished that
Ellen would give more time to the matter of looks. But latterly he had
come to the conclusion that a woman has to choose between improving her
exterior and improving her interior, and that it is impossible or all but
impossible for her to do both; he therefore found in Ellen's very
indifference to exteriors another reason why she seemed to him so
splendidly the opposite of Charles's wife.

"You certainly look the same as ever, Hiram," Matilda said, advancing
with extended, beautifully gloved hand. The expression of his eyes as he
turned them upon her gave her a shock, but she forced the smile back into
her face and went on, "Ross says you always make him think of a tower on
top of a high hill, one that has always stood there and always will."

The gray shadow over Hiram's face grew grayer. "But you ought to rest,"
Mrs. Whitney went on. "You and Charles both ought to rest. It's