"So, if it's a failure, don't blame me," I said. "And, if it's a success, don't thank me."
"I shall always thank you for your kindness to Hilda," she said, "especially when she was ill."
"That was nothing," I said.
"Hilda's parents don't think so."
And then she did a difficult thing very gracefully. We must have the girl's room properly disinfected, she told me; I assured her that Arthur had already received an estimate for redecorating the whole house. Thanks to them, we were now in a position... Hilda's room, she insisted, must be her province. I have told you that in the old committee days she positively imposed her will on the rest of us; so now. She would not leave the house until she had dragged the estimate out of me by main force.
The work has recently been completed. There was the usual letter to ask if we were satisfied, and Arthur wrote out a cheque. It was returned. Mr. Surdan had asked to have the account sent to him... I was beside myself with anger at such a liberty...
I tell this against myself, because, having gone to curse, I stayed to pray, as it were. Mrs. Surdan wouldn't let me speak.
"Hilda is our only child, as Mr. Will is yours," she said. "If anything had happened to her, you can imagine what we should have thought. Is it altogether kind to say that we must not thank you for your devotion to our little girl?"
There you have the woman—clever, direct, going straight to my weak place...
What could one say?