"I shall have no more to do with them," she said; "I've tried my best
for Mrs. Hughs. I know quite as good a needlewoman, who'll be only too
glad to come instead. Any other girl will do as well to copy father's
book. If you take my advice, Hilary, you'll give up trying to help them
too."
Hilary's smile puzzled and annoyed her. If she had known, this was the
smile that stood between him and her sister.
"You may be right," he said, and shrugged his shoulders:
"Very well," said Cecilia, "I've done all I can. I must go now.
Good-bye."
During her progress to the door she gave one look behind. Hilary was
standing by the bust of Socrates. Her heart smote her to leave him thus
embarrassed. But again the vision of Bianca--fugitive in her own house,
and with something tragic in her mocking immobility--came to her, and
she hastened away.
A voice said: "How are you, Mrs. Dallison? Your sister at home?"
Cecilia saw before her Mr. Purcey, rising and falling a little with the
oscillation of his A.i. Damyer.
A sense as of having just left a house visited by sickness or misfortune
made Cecilia murmur:
"I'm afraid she's not."
"Bad luck!" said Mr. Purcey. His face fell as far as so red and square
a face could fall. "I was hoping perhaps I might be allowed to take
them for a run. She's wanting exercise.
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