Hilda Lessways | Page 6

and then you'll sell all the property
at a loss. That's how it will be. And what shall you do if you're not
feeling well, and if it rains on Monday mornings?"
Hilda could conceive her mother forgetting all about the rents on
Monday morning, or putting them off till Monday afternoon on some
grotesque excuse. Her fancy heard the interminable complainings,
devisings, futile resolvings, of the self-appointed collector. It was
impossible to imagine a woman less fitted by nature than her mother to
collect rents from unthrifty artisans such as inhabited Calder Street.
The project sickened her. It would render the domestic existence an
inferno.
As for Mrs. Lessways, she was shocked, for her project had seemed
very beautiful to her, and for the moment she was perfectly convinced
that she could collect rents and manage property as well as anyone. She
was convinced that her habits were regular, her temper firm and tactful,
and her judgment excellent. She was more than shocked; she was
wounded. She wept, as she pushed forward Hilda's replenished cup.
"You ought to take shame!" she murmured weakly, yet with certitude.
"Why?" said Hilda, feigning simplicity. "What have I said? I didn't
begin. You asked me. I can't help what I think."
"It's your tone," said Mrs. Lessways grievously.
III
Despite all Hilda's terrible wisdom and sagacity, this remark of the
foolish mother's was the truest word spoken in the discussion. It was
Hilda's tone that was at the root of the evil. If Hilda, with the
intelligence as to which she was secretly so complacent, did not
amicably rule her mother, the unavoidable inference was that she was
either a clumsy or a wicked girl, or both. She indeed felt dimly that she
was a little of both. But she did not mind. Sitting there in the small,

familiar room, close to the sewing-machine, the steel fender, the
tarnished chandelier, and all the other daily objects which she at once
detested and loved, sitting close to her silly mother who angered her,
and yet in whom she recognized a quality that was mysteriously
precious and admirable, staring through the small window at the brown,
tattered garden-plot where blackened rhododendrons were swaying in
the October blast, she wilfully bathed herself in grim gloom and in an
affectation of despair.
Somehow she enjoyed the experience. She had only to tighten her
lips--and she became oblivious of her clumsiness and her cruelty,
savouring with pleasure the pain of the situation, clasping it to her!
Now and then a thought of Mr. Skellorn's tragedy shot through her
brain, and the tenderness of pity welled up from somewhere within her
and mingled exquisitely with her dark melancholy. And she found
delight in reading her poor mother like an open book, as she supposed.
And all the while her mother was dreaming upon the first year of
Hilda's life, before she had discovered that her husband's health was as
unstable as his character, and comparing the reality of the present with
her early illusions. But the clever girl was not clever enough to read
just that page.
"We ought to be everything to each other," said Mrs. Lessways,
pursuing her reflections aloud.
Hilda hated sentimentalism. She could not stand such talk.
"And you know," said Hilda, speaking very frigidly and with even
more than her usual incisive clearness of articulation, "it's not your
property. It's only yours for life. It's my property."
The mother's mood changed in a moment.
"How do you know? You've never seen your father's will." She spoke
in harsh challenge.
"No; because you've never let me see it."

"You ought to have more confidence in your mother. Your father had.
And I'm trustee and executor." Mrs. Lessways was exceedingly jealous
of her legal position, whose importance she never forgot nor would
consent to minimize.
"That's all very well, for you," said Hilda; "but if the property isn't
managed right, I may find myself slaving when I'm your age, mother.
And whose fault will it be?... However, I shall--"
"You will what?"
"Nothing."
"I suppose her ladyship will be consulting her own lawyer next!" said
Mrs. Lessways bitterly.
They looked at each other. Hilda's face flushed to a sombre red. Mrs.
Lessways brusquely left the room. Then Hilda could hear her rattling
fussily at the kitchen range. After a few minutes Hilda followed her to
the kitchen, which was now nearly in darkness. The figure of Mrs.
Lessways, still doing nothing whatever with great vigour at the range,
was dimly visible. Hilda approached her, and awkwardly touched her
shoulder.
"Mother!" she demanded sharply; and she was astonished by her
awkwardness and her sharpness.
"Is that you?" her mother asked, in a queer, foolish tone.
They kissed. Such a candid peacemaking had never occurred between
them before. Mrs. Lessways,