"I suppose _you_ couldn't give him a hint?" "Yes, I'll tell him," said Hilda. "Of course!" In spite of herself she was assuming a certain proprietorship in Mr. Cannon. "I'm so glad!" Janet replied. "It is good of you!" "It seems to me it's you that's good, Janet," Hilda said grimly. She thought: "Should _I_, out of simple kindliness and charity, have deliberately come to tell a man I didn't know... that his sister was starving? Never!" "He's bound to see after it!" said Janet, content. "Why, of course!" said Hilda, clinching the affair, in an intimate, confidential murmur. "You'll tell him to-night?" Hilda nodded. They exchanged a grave glance of mutual appreciation and understanding. Each was sure of the other's high esteem. Each was glad that chance had brought about the meeting between them. Then they lifted away their apprehensive solicitude for Sarah Gailey, and Janet, having sighed relief, began to talk about old times. And their voices grew louder and more free. "Can you tell me what time it is?" Janet asked, later. "I've broken the spring of my watch, and I have to meet father at the station at ten-fifteen." "I haven't a notion!" said Hilda, rather ashamed. "I hope it isn't ten o'clock." "I could ask," said Hilda hesitatingly. The hour, for aught she knew, was nine, eleven, or even midnight. She was oblivious of time. "I'll run," said Janet, preparing to go. "I shall tell Charlie I've seen you, next time I write to him. I'm sure he'll be glad. And you must come to see us. You really must, now! Mother and father will be delighted. Do you still recite, like you used to?" Hilda shook her head, blushing. She made no definite response to the invitation, which surprised, agitated, and flattered her. She wanted to accept it, but she was convinced that she never would accept it. Before departing, Janet lifted her veil, with a beautiful gesture, and offered her lips to kiss. They embraced affectionately. The next moment Hilda, at the top of the dim, naked, resounding stair, was watching Janet descend--a figure infinitely stylish and agreeable to the eye. CHAPTER IX IN THE STREET I A few minutes later, just as Hilda had sealed up the last of the letters, Mr. Cannon issued somewhat hurriedly out of the inner room, buttoning his overcoat at the neck. "Good night," he said, and took his stick from the corner where he had placed it. "Mr. Cannon!" "Well?" "I wanted to speak to you." "What is it? I'm in a hurry." She glanced at the inner door, which he had left open. From beyond that door came the voices of Arthur Dayson and the old clerk; Hilda lacked the courage to cross the length of the room and deliberately close it, and though Mr. Cannon did not seem inclined to move, his eyes followed the direction of hers and he must have divined her embarrassment. She knew not what to do. A crisis seemed to rise up monstrous between them, in an instant. She was trembling, and in acute trouble.