n.

I was with Lucy while it took place, but certain gists of what was said
and done have come to me, some from my mother, and some from Hilda.

My mother, it seemed, waived at once all those degrees of the social
scale which separated them, took Hilda in her arms, kissed her, and
held her while Hilda had what women call a "good cry." My mother is
too proud and brave to cry, but she was unhappy without affectation.
After the embrace and the cry they sat side by side on a little
brocaded sofa and talked. My mother fortunately did not have to point
out the social obstacles in the way of a match between Hilda and me, as
there was never any question of such a match. Indeed, in the talk
between them I was not at first mentioned. My mother took the position
that Hilda was just a sweet, nice-minded girl who was very unhappy and
needed comforting, and advice. First she made Hilda tell the story of
her life. To be permitted to do this in the presence of a sincere
listener and well-wisher is one of the greatest comforts to anyone.

"The poor child," said my mother, "has had such a drab, colorless,
unhappy life that it made her almost happy to tell about it."

It seemed that Hilda wasn't "anybody" even for a servant. Her earliest
recollections were of life in an English orphanage--one of those
orphanages where the mothers of the orphans are still alive and there
never were any fathers.

"But she's made herself think," my mother told me, "that her father was
a gentleman--God save the mark!"

Well, she went into service when she was a "great" girl of fourteen or
fifteen, and after various drab adventures in servitude came to this
country and was presently sent to my mother on approval. She had left
her last place in England because of a horrible butler. He was
bowlegged and very old. He drank and made the poor frightened girls in
the house listen to horrible stories. One found notes, printed notes,
pinned on one's pincushion. "Have a heart. Don't lock your door
tonight," and such like. Or a piece of plate would be missed and one
would find it in one's bureau drawer, where the horrible old man had
put it, and one dared not complain to the master lest upon carefully
planned circumstantial evidence one be made out to be a thief.

It had been so wonderful coming to live in my mother's house. The
servants were so different, so kind, so worthy. The servants' rooms
were so clean and neat and well-furnished as the mas