'The Hughs live somewhere there,' she thought. 'After all I think
B. ought to know about that man. She might speak to father, and get
him to give up having the girl to copy for him--the whole thing's so
worrying.'
In pursuance of this thought, she lunched hastily, and went out, making
her way to Hilary's. With every step she became more uncertain. The fear
of meddling too much, of not meddling enough, of seeming meddlesome;
timidity at touching anything so awkward; distrust, even ignorance, of
her sister's character, which was like, yet so very unlike, her own;
a real itch to get the matter settled, so that nothing whatever should
come of it--all this she felt. She hurried, dawdled, finished the
adventure almost at a run, then told the servant not to announce her.
The vision of Bianca's eyes, while she listened to this tale, was
suddenly too much for Cecilia. She decided to pay a visit to her father
first.
Mr. Stone was writing, attired in his working dress--a thick brown
woollen gown, revealing his thin neck above the line of a blue shirt,
and tightly gathered round the waist with tasselled cord; the lower
portions of grey trousers were visible above woollen-slippered feet. His
hair straggled over his thin long ears. The window, wide open, admitted
an east wind; there was no fire. Cecilia shivered.
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