Hilda | Page 3

in
India, Miss--Captain Filbert?"
"I served a year up-country and then fell ill and had to go home on
furlough. The native food didn't suit me. I am stationed in Calcutta now,
but I have only just come."
"Pleasant time of the year to arrive," Mr. Lindsay remarked.
"Yes; but we are not particular about that. We love all the times and the
seasons, since every one brings its appointed opportunity. Last year, in
Mugridabad, there were more souls saved in June than in any other
month."
"Really?" asked Mr. Lindsay; but he was not looking at her with those
speculations. The light had come back upon her face.
"I will say good-bye now," said Captain Filbert. "I have a meeting at
half-past five. Shall we have a word of prayer before I go?"
She plainly looked for immediate acquiescence; but Miss Howe said,
"Another time, dear."

"Oh, why not?" exclaimed Duff Lindsay. Hilda put the semblance of a
rebuke into her glance at him, and said, "Certainly not."
"Oh," Captain Filbert cried, "don't think you can escape that way! I will
pray for you long and late to-night, and ask my lieutenant to do so too.
Don't harden your heart, Miss Howe--the Lord is waiting to be
compassionate."
The two were silent, and Laura walked toward the door. Just where the
sun slanted into the room and made leaf-patterns on the floor, she
turned and stood for an instant in the full tide of it; and it set all the
loose tendrils of her pale yellow hair in a little flame, and gave the
folds of the flesh-coloured sari that fell over her shoulder the texture of
draperies so often depicted as celestial. The sun sought into her face,
revealing nothing but great purity of line and a clear pallor, except
where below the wide, light-blue eyes two ethereal shadows brushed
themselves. Under the intentness of their gaze she made as if she would
pass out without speaking; and the tender curves of her limbs, as she
wavered, could not have been matched out of mediæval stained glass.
But her courage, or her conviction, came back to her at the door, and
she raised her hand and pointed at Hilda.
"She's got a soul worth saving."
Then the portière fell behind her, and nothing was said in the room
until the pad of her bare feet had ceased upon the stair.
"She came out in the Bengal with us," Hilda told him--this is not a
special instance of it, but she could always gratify Duff Lindsay in
advance--"and she was desperately seedy, poor girl. I looked after her a
little, but it was mistaken kindness, for now she's got me on her mind.
And as the two hundred and eighty million benighted souls of India are
her continual concern, I seem a superfluity. To think of being the two
hundred and eighty-first millionth oppresses one."
Lindsay listened with a look of accustomed happiness.
"You weren't at that end of the ship!" he demanded.

"Of course I was--we all were. And some of us, little Miss Stace, for
instance--thankful enough at the prospect of cold meat and sardines for
tea every night for a whole month. And after Suez ices for dinner on
Sundays. It was luxury."
Lindsay was pulling an aggrieved moustache. "I don't call it fair or
friendly," he said, "when you know how easily it could have been
arranged. Your own sense of the fitness of things should have told you
that the second-class saloon was no place for you. For you!"
Plainly she did not intend to argue the point. She poised her chin in her
hand and looked away over his head, and he could not help seeing, as
he had seen before, that her eyes were beautiful. But this had been so
long acknowledged between them that she could hardly have been
conscious that she was insisting on it afresh. Then, by the time he
might have thought her launched upon a different meditation, her mind
swept back to his protest, like a whimsical bird.
"I didn't want to extract anything from the mercantile community of
Calcutta in advance," she said. "It would be most unbusinesslike.
Stanhope has been equal to bringing us out; but I quite see myself, as
leading lady, taking round the hat before the end of the season. Then I
think," she said with defiance, "that I shall avoid you."
"And pray why?"
"Because you would put too much in. According to your last letters you
are getting beastly rich. You would take all the tragedy out of the
situation, and my experience would vanish in your cheque."
"I don't know why my feelings should always be cuffed out of the way
of your experiences," Lindsay said. She retorted, "Oh, yes, you