They were both remembering what the woman had said when she took the
money: "God give you a happy love!" It was not in the ingratiating
tone of the habitual beggar: it had come out of the depths of the poor
creature's sorrow, vibrating with pity for their youth and despair
at the terribleness of human life; it had the anguish of a voice of
prophecy. Until she spoke, Bartley had not realized that he was in love.
The strange woman, and her passionate sentence that rang out so sharply,
had frightened them both. They went home sadly with the lilacs, back
to the Rue Saint-Jacques, walking very slowly, arm in arm. When they
reached the house where Hilda lodged, Bartley went across the court with
her, and up the dark old stairs to the third landing; and there he had
kissed her for the first time. He had shut his eyes to give him the
courage, he remembered, and she had trembled so--
Bartley started when Hilda rang the little bell beside her. "Dear me,
why did you do that? I had quite forgotten--I was back there. It was
very jolly," he murmured lazily, as Marie came in to take away the
coffee.
Hilda laughed and went over to the piano. "Well, we are neither of us
twenty now, you know. Have I told you about my new play? Mac is writing
one; really for me this time. You see, I'm coming on."
"I've seen nothing else. What kind of a part is it? Shall you wear
yellow gowns? I hope so."
He was looking at her round slender figure, as she stood by the piano,
turning over a pile of music, and he felt the energy in every line of
it.
Pages:
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53