“It’s a lovely thing,” said Peter, as Katherine turned it before him; “the simplicity of the outline and the delicate bas-relief”—he bent his head to look more closely—“exquisite.” And he thought it rather rough on Hilda; to pour the tea from her own teapot without waiting for her.
Still, he owned, when at last the door-bell rang at fully half-past six, that he might have been asking for too much patience.
“There she is,” said Katherine; “I must go and tell her that you are here.” Katherine went out, and Odd heard a murmured colloquy in the entrance. He was conscious of feeling excited, and unconsciously rose to his feet and looked eagerly toward the door. But only Katherine came in.
“I don’t believe I shall ever see Hilda!” he exclaimed, with an assumption of exasperation that hid some real nervousness. Katherine laughed.
“Oh yes, you shall, in five minutes. She had to wash her face and hands. Artists are untidy people, you know,” and Odd, with that same strange acuteness of perception with which he seemed dowered this afternoon, felt that Hilda had been coming in in all her artistic untidiness, and that Katherine had seen to a more respectable entrée.
It rather irritated him with Katherine, and that tactful young lady probably guessed at his disappointment, for she went to the piano and began to play a sad aria from one of Schumann’s Sonatas that sighed and pled and sobbed. She played very well, with the same perfect taste that she showed in her gowns, and Peter was too fond of music, too fond of Schumann especially, not to listen to her.
In the middle of the aria Hilda came in. It was over in a moment, the meeting, as the most exciting things in life are. Peter had not realized till the moment came how much it would excite him.
Hilda came in and walked up to him. She put her hand in his with all the pretty gravity he remembered in the child. Odd took the other hand too and stared at her. He was conscious then of being very much excited, and conscious that she was not.
Her eyes were “big and vague,” but they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and the vagueness was only in a certain lack of expression, for they looked straight into his. Carried along by that first impulse of excitement, despite the little shock of half-felt disappointment, Peter bent his head and kissed her on each cheek.
“Bravo!” said Katherine, still striking soft chords at the piano, “Bravo, Mr. Odd! considering your first meeting and your last parting, you have a right to that!” And Katherine laughed pleasantly, though she was a trifle displeased.