It would be time enough to think of that when
she was twenty-five. But her own experiences had been so different. She
had spent so many youthful hours in wondering about men, had seen so
many men cast furtive looks at her; and now there did not seem in men
or girls anything left worth the other's while to wonder or look furtive
about. She was not of a philosophic turn of mind, and had attached
no deep meaning to Stephen's jest--"If young people will reveal their
ankles, they'll soon have no ankles to reveal."
To Cecilia the extinction of the race seemed threatened; in reality her
species of the race alone was vanishing, which to her, of course,
was very much the same disaster. With her eyes on Stephen's boots she
thought: 'How shall I prevent what I've heard from coming to Bianca's
ears? I know how she would take it! How shall I prevent Thyme's hearing?
I'm sure I don't know what the effect would be on her! I must speak to
Stephen. He's so fond of Hilary.'
And, turning away from Stephen's boots, she mused: 'Of course it's
nonsense. Hilary's much too--too nice, too fastidious, to be more than
just interested; but he's so kind he might easily put himself in a false
position. And--it's ugly nonsense! B. can be so disagreeable; even now
she's not--on terms with him!' And suddenly the thought of Mr.
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