Hildegarde looked round for her chair.
“It rained two drops a little while ago,” observed Mrs. Locke, “and the man you call the giant moved your things.”
“Oh, did he?” Hildegarde stood at the ship’s side, looking at the fading red.
By and by, “Sit on half my stool,” suggested Mrs. Locke.
“Thank you,” said Hildegarde, feeling that coming from such a source this invitation was immensely cordial. “It’s very kind of you.”
“No, that isn’t it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the sort of person everybody wants to do things for.” She seemed to point it out as a fault on Miss Mar’s part.
Hildegarde looked at her curiously. “I should have thought you were more that kind of person, except for—” The cameo-like face must have been beautiful before it grew so white and set. You felt that a touch of color even now, a little happiness, would make it irresistible.
“Except?” Mrs. Locke echoed.