She spoke with a restrained force that startled him. She was not, he perceived, as colorless as he had thought. There was, indeed, something about her which, in spite of her clumsiness and lack of comeliness, reminded him of Elizabeth. It was, if he had known it, a spiritual quality which linked her with her sister. If she had not Elizabeth's vision, she had at least a sane sense of values. And she knew nothing of weakness. Her life had been hard, and it had made her strong.
He jumped to his feet and stood looking down at her: "Do you think I am going to let her marry Harlowe? What kind of future will she have with him?"
"What kind of future will she have with you?"
It was a fierce challenge. He met it almost with violence. "She will have the things which belong to girls of her class. Elizabeth wanted her to have them. She sent the child to me."
"She hoped for better things, and they have not come. And Hildegarde is glad to be with us again. She feels that her mother's spirit still lingers in this house."
He cast a half-fearful look about him. "Here?"
"Yes. The peace of her. The beauty of her mind and soul. She gave these to her child. You gave nothing but handsome clothes and a trip to Paris."
When he answered her, there was a touch of contempt in his voice. What did she know of life? This drab old dame! Shut within her narrow acres! "I can't expect you to understand. I am practical, and
