It was her "day out" at St.Nathaniel's, and she had come round to spend it with Daphne Tepping.

I had introduced her to the house some time before, and she and my cousin had struck up a close acquaintance immediately.
Their temperaments were sympathetic; Daphne admired Hilda's depth and reserve, while Hilda admired Daphne's grave grace and self-control, her perfect freedom from current affectations.

She neither giggled nor aped Ibsenism.
A third person stood back in the room when I entered--a tall and somewhat jerry-built young man, with a rather long and solemn face, like an early stage in the evolution of a Don Quixote.

I took a good look at him.

There was something about his air that impressed me as both lugubrious and humorous; and in this I was right, for I learned later that he was one of those rare people who can sing a comic song with immense success while preserving a sour countenance, like a Puritan preacher's.