the lovely autumn is gone, and winter is here. mr. and mrs. graham have long since been settled at home, and hildegarde is with them. how does it fare with her, the new hildegarde, under the old influences and amid the old surroundings? for answer, let us take the word of her oldest friend,—the friend who "knows hildegarde!" madge everton has just finished a long letter to helen mcivor, who is spending the winter in washington, and there can be no harm in our taking a peep into it.
"you ask me about hilda graham; but, alas! i have nothing pleasant to tell. my dear, hilda is simply lost to us! it is all the result of that dreadful summer spent among swineherds. you know what the bible says! i don't know exactly what, but something terrible about that sort of thing. of course it is partly her mother's influence as well. i have always dreaded it for hilda, who is so sensitive to impressions. why, i remember, as far back as the first year that we were at mme. haut-ton's, mrs. graham saying to mamma, 'i wish we could interest our girls a little in sensible things!' my dear, she meant hospitals and soup-kitchens and things! and mamma said (you know mamma isn't in the least afraid of mrs. graham, though i confess i am!), 'my dear mrs. graham, if there is one thing society will not tolerate, it is a sensible woman. our girls might as well have the small-pox at once, and be done with it.' wasn't it clever of mamma? and mrs. graham just looked at her as if she were a camel from barnum's.
"well, poor hildegarde is sensible enough now to satisfy even her mother. ever since she came home from that odious place, it has been one round of hospitals and tenement-houses and sloughs of horror. i don't mean that she has given up school, for she is studying harder than ever; but out of school she is simply swallowed up by these wretched things. i have remonstrated with her almost on my knees. 'hildegarde,' i said one day, 'do you realize that you are practically giving up your whole life? if you once lose your place in society among those of your own age and position, you never can regain it. do you realize this, hilda? for i feel it a solemn duty to warn you!' my dear, she actually laughed! and only said, 'dear madge, i have only just begun to have any life!' and that was all i could get out of her, for just then some one came in. but even this is not the worst! oh, helen! she has some of the creatures whom she saw this summer, actually staying in the house,—in that house, which we used to call castle graham, and were almost afraid to enter ourselves, so stately and beautiful it was! there are two of these creatures,—a girl about our age, some sort of dreadful cripple, who goes about in a bath-chair, and a freckled imp of a boy. the girl is at —— hospital for treatment, but spends every sunday at the grahams', and hilda devotes most of her spare time to her. the boy is at school,—one of the best schools in the city. 'but who are these people?' i hear you cry. my dear! they are simply ignorant paupers, who were hilda's constant companions through that disastrous summer. now their mother is dead, and the people with whom hilda stayed have adopted them. the boy is to be a doctor, and the girl is going to get well, dr. george says. (he calls her a beautiful and interesting creature; but you know what that means. any diseased creature is beautiful to him!) well, and these, my dear helen, are hilda graham's friends, for whom she has deserted her old ones! for though she is unchanged towards me when i see her, i hardly ever do see her. she cares nothing for my pursuits, and i certainly have no intention of joining in hers. i met her the other day on fifth avenue, walking beside that odious bath-chair, which the freckled boy was pushing. she looked so lovely (for she is prettier than ever, with a fine color and eyes like stars), and was talking so earnestly, and walking somehow as if she were treading on air, it sent a pang through my heart. i just paused an instant (for though i trust i am not snobbish, helen, still, i draw the line at bath-chairs, and will not be seen standing by one), and said in a low tone, meant only for her ear, 'ah! has queen hildegarde come to this?' my dear, she only laughed! but that girl, that cripple, looked up with a smile and a sort of flash over her face, and said, just as if she knew me, 'yes, miss everton! the queen has come to her kingdom!'"
