“She is more with papa.” In her heart Hilda said: “He loves her best,” but of that she could not speak, even to this new friend who seemed already so near; to no one could she hint of that ache in her heart of which jealousy formed no part, for it was natural that papa should love Katherine best, that every one should; she was so gay and courageous; but though it was natural that Katherine should be loved best, it was hard to be loved least.
“You are by yourself a good deal, then?” said Odd. “Do you walk by yourself, too?”
“Yes, with the dogs. I used to have grandmamma, you know; she died a year ago.”
“Oh, yes! Mrs. Archinard’s mother.”
Hilda nodded; her grasp on Odd’s hand tightened and they walked in silence. Odd remembered the fine portrait of a lady in the drawing-room; he had noticed its likeness and unlikeness to Mrs. Archinard; a delicate face, but with an Emersonian expression of self-reliance, a puritan look of stanchness and responsibility.
CHAPTER IV
ON the way home, cool evening shadows slanting across the road, Alicia declared that she had really enjoyed herself.
“Captain Archinard is quite jolly. He has seen everybody and everything under the sun. He is most entertaining, and Lord Allan is remarkably uncallow.”
“He thinks of standing for Parliament next year. A nice, steady, honest young fellow. How do you like the Archinards, Peter?”
“The child—Hilda—is a dear child.”