She would do what would she not do
to help him, to serve his interests? What had she not done since she
married Her fortune, it was his; her every waking hour had been filled
with something devised to help him on his way. Had he ever said to her:
"Hylda, you are a help to me"? He had admired her--but was he singular in
that? Before she married there were many--since, there had been many--who
had shown, some with tact and carefulness, others with a crudeness making
her shudder, that they admired her; and, if they might, would have given
their admiration another name with other manifestations. Had she repelled
it all? She had been too sure of herself to draw her skirts about her;
she was too proud to let any man put her at any disadvantage. She had
been safe, because her heart had been untouched. The Duchess of Snowdon,
once beautiful, but now with a face like a mask, enamelled and rouged and
lifeless, had said to her once: "My dear, I ought to have died at thirty.
When I was twenty-three I wanted to squeeze the orange dry in a handful
of years, and then go out suddenly, and let the dust of forgetfulness
cover my bones.
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