“You’d have to go alone,” Bella said presently.
“Yes, I’d have to go alone.”
“It’s an awful journey.”
“I suppose so.”
“Yes, and the people—the roughest sort of people.”
“I wouldn’t be afraid—at least, not much.”
“I shouldn’t dare to.”
“No, no, you’re younger. And besides, even if I were the younger, I’m the one who could do it.” Not often that Hildegarde laid herself open to a charge of arrogance. “Yes,” she said, with rising excitement, “I could do it, only”—and the high look fell—“it costs a great deal.” She stood quite still looking down upon Brunhild’s shield, that showed on the dark carpet like a tiny circular pool of gleaming water. Still that maddening piano over the way! “The boys wouldn’t help me,” Hildegarde thought out loud, “they’ve already—they’ll be disgusted enough as it is.” She sat down, still with her eyes on the shield, as if she didn’t dare lose sight of it a moment. “Of course mother wouldn’t dream—” After a little pause, “And Louis would say I was mad. But I must think—I must think!” She leaned her tilted chin on her hand, and still like one hypnotized she stared at the metal disk shining there in the shadow. “I must find a way. Father shall not be left up there another winter.”
Nothing more, till Bella brought out quite low the words, “I could get you the money.”