"Of course she would," said Kitty; "she will get some sympathy perhaps from you. I am afraid I have not given her much. She says I cannot understand her, and really she is right."
In spite of a warm protest from Gwen, Aldyth went on her way, full of wonder as to what had occurred to disturb Mrs. Bland and make Hilda unhappy.
Mrs. Bland was engaged with visitors, so Aldyth went at once to her friend's room.
Hilda had risen by this time, but she wore her dressing-gown, which was a very becoming one of pale blue, so that she looked charmingly invalidish as she sat in her easy-chair by the fire. It would not be correct to say that she looked ill. Her face was not more colourless than it always was; but she leaned back in her chair with a listless, languid air, and her expression was melancholy in the extreme, whilst her reddened eyelids testified to past weeping. She uttered a faint exclamation of pleasure as her friend entered the room.
"Oh, I am glad to see you," she said; "how good of you to come!"
"Why, Hilda dear, what is the matter?" Aldyth asked. "I met Kitty, and she gave me a most bewildering account of you. Do tell me what it is all about."
"Oh, Aldyth, I am the most miserable girl in the world!" Hilda exclaimed, and again burst into tears.
"But why?" asked Aldyth, surprised and grieved. "Why do you speak so of yourself?"
"Because it is true," sobbed Hilda. "Oh, Aldyth, you do not know how unhappy I am. And four days ago I was so happy! I little thought the New Year was going to bring me such misery."
