After a little the moods grew less bitter. But one bitterness never grew less. The sight of such frivolities as had wrecked Dick and herself, the mention of them, the sight of the people involved in them—could always bring back a rush of poison through her mind. That had cut her off completely from Della. Her mother’s house had changed. It was no longer the spacious, comfortable, somewhat quiet house of Mrs. Warner’s planning, at least not to Cecily, though a casual observer would have noticed few changes. Della had pervaded the house with herself. At first Cecily made a protest here and there, but her protests were against trifles and it was impossible to explain to her stepfather or to Walter why little things like irregular hours for meals, like the careless and indiscriminate use of linens (Della could not waste her time over a lot of sheets and pillow-cases, she said), were a violation of her mother’s spirit. Cecily felt that the men thought her trivial and she soon came seldom to the house now ruled by Della, except to bring the children to see Mr. Warner. Walter and she were rather definitely estranged. She came in one morning at eleven o’clock to find Walter eating breakfast in a bathrobe, weary, red-eyed and unshaven. He explained crossly and with an aggressive note of defense that they had been up until all hours. Cecily was silent and her glance as she looked at him and the disordered breakfast room was only discouraged, but it must have shamed Walter into bravado.
She was standing there when Della came in. Della was wearing an extravagant negligee and looking untidy, but delightfully pretty. At sight of Cecily she threw up her hands.
“Good Heavens, Cecily, this is no morning for you to drop in and catch us at our worst. We’ll shock her, Walter. Now don’t you scold him, Cecily. He was tired and I let him sleep.”
She settled down on the arm of Walter’s chair and he pushed back from the table, pulling her down into his arms. Disheveled and laughingly protesting, Della let him hold her. Cecily turned away, trying to be light.
“Too domestic a party for me. I only wanted to see if I could find the second volume of a novel father lent me. I’ll hunt for it?”
“Go ahead. Try his room if it isn’t in the library.”
Cecily left them and with the closing of the door, Della settled herself more comfortably.
“I think we really shocked her, dearie.”
“Nonsense,” said Walter, looking down at the bundle of lace and ribbons which should have been so alluring. “Nonsense.” He passed a hand over his chin and kissed her without much interest. “Get up, honey; I’ve got to get dressed.”
It was such little things which isolated Cecily. She did not go to her father’s house again for weeks. She was apologetic for being a drawback and yet she could not enter into so many of the things the others made their habits. The knowledge, too, that Della felt that Cecily had made a mess of things and that all her sympathies were with Dick kept her away. The thought of Della as her critic was intolerable to her pride.