I'd like to see you wear them."
She shook her head. "What should I do with things like that?" Her
voice had a note of wistfulness. "A woman in my position must be
careful."
"But I want you to have the things," he persisted.
"I shouldn't have a place to wear them," sadly. "No, you are very good
to offer them. But I mustn't."
The General slept after that. Hilda read under the lamp--a white cat
watched by a little old terrier on the stairs!
And now the big house was very still. There were lights in the halls
of the first and second floors. Bronson crouching in the darkness of
the third landing was glad of the company of the painted lady on the
stairs. He knew she would approve of what he was doing. For years he
had served her in such matters as this, saving her husband from
himself. When Derry was too small, too ignorant of evil, too innocent,
to be told things, it was to the old servant that she had come.
He remembered a certain night. She was young then and new to her task.
She and the General had been dining at one of the Legations. She was
in pale blue and very appealing. When Bronson had opened the door, she
had come in alone.
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