"I have given my whole life, my whole life, Peter, for my girls! I have borne this long exile from my home for their sakes!" At Allersley Mrs. Archinard had never ceased complaining of her restricted lot, and had characterized her neighbors as "yokels and Philistines." Speaking with her handkerchief pressed by her finger-tips upon her eyelids, she continued, "I have asked nothing of them but sympathy; _that_ I have craved! And in my hour of need--" Mrs. Archinard's _point de Venise_ bosom heaved once more. Odd took her hand with the unwilling yet pitying kindness one would show towards a silly and unpleasant child. "I don't think you are quite fair," he said; "Hilda looks as badly as you do. She has had a heavy load to carry." "I told her again and again to get a _garde-malade_, two if necessary." Mrs. Archinard's voice rose to a higher key. "She has chosen to ruin her appearance by sitting up to all hours of the night, and by working all day in that futile studio." "_Garde-malades_ are expensive." Odd could not restrain his voice's edge. "Expensive! For a dying mother! And with all that is lavished on her studio--canvases, paints, models!" The depths of misconception were too hopelessly great, and, as Mrs. Archinard's voice had now become shrilly emphatic, he kept silence, his heart shaken with misery and with pity, despairing pity for Hilda. She re-entered presently, wearing on her face too evident signs of contrition. She spoke to her mother in tones of gentle entreaty, humored her sweetly, gayly even, while she made tea. "You know I cannot touch cake, Hilda." "There are buttered _brioches_, mamma, piping hot." "Properly buttered, I hope. Rosalie usually places a great clot in the centre, leaving the edges uneatable." "Mamma is like the princess who felt the pea through all the dozens of mattresses, isn't she?" said Hilda, smiling at Odd. "But _I_ buttered these with scientific exactitude." "Exactitude! Ah! the mirage of science! More milk, more milk!" Mrs. Archinard raised herself on one elbow to watch with expectant disapproval the concoction of her tea, and, relapsing on her cushions as the tea was brought to her, "I suppose it _is_ milk, though I prefer cream." "No, it's cream." Hilda should know, as she had herself just darted round the corner to the _crêmerie_. Odd sprang up to take his cup from her. He thought she looked in danger of falling to the ground. "Do sit down," he said in a low voice; "you look very, very badly."