“The pity of it! The pathos!” Odd pursued, not heeding her comment. Hilda looked at him rather sadly.
“You mean that I should have lost my ignorance? Yes, that made me feel badly,” she assented. “That is the worst of it. One becomes so suspicious. But, Mr. Odd, that is merely a sentimental regret. I have not lost my self-respect. I am not ignorant of things I should like to ignore; but one may know a great many things, and be unharmed.”
“My dear child, you are probably innocent of things familiar to many modern girls. No knowledge could harm you. You have a right to more than self-respect. You are a little heroine. Your unrewarded, unrecognized fight fills me with amazement and reverence. I did not know that such self-forgetful devotion existed.”
“Oh, please don’t talk like that! It is quite ridiculous! We must have money, and I can make it easily. I would be quite a monster if I sat idly at home, and saw mamma in squalid misery. I merely do my duty.” Hilda spoke quite sharply and decisively.
“Merely!” Odd ejaculated.
A thought of the near future, of Allan Hope, kept him silent, otherwise he might have indulged in reckless invective. He still held her hand, and again he raised it to his lips.
“That is a very stubborn and unconvinced salute, I am afraid,” Hilda said good-humoredly.
“May I come and get you now and then?” he asked.
“You think it would be wise?”
“How do you mean wise, Hilda?”